Beyond the Veil
by fanster
Summary: Voldemort is gaining power and Harry, now in his sixth year, knows he must find a way to defeat him. But between school, romance, Quidditch, clashes with Snape, and his private lessons with Dumbledore... he is obsessed with finding out what Malfoy is up to. The ensuing consequences put everyone on a path that none of them ever expected.
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: I do not in any way, shape, or form, own Harry Potter or any of its settings, characters, etc. This is purely for entertainment purposes and I do not receive profit by any means (I wish). This has (obviously) not been authorized, approved, licensed or otherwise endorsed by J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros., or any other entity associated with Harry Potter. Anything and everything related to that end are property of their respective owners. I do not claim any affiliation with these individuals or organizations and no copyright infringement is intended with the publication of this story.

I do, however, own this particular version. So if you'd kindly not steal it and claim it as your own work, I would be most grateful.

(And now that the boring part is over…)

INTRODUCTION: This fanfiction is the first of a two-part series I have written as an alternative of sorts for the 6th and 7th installments of J.K. Rowling's series and takes place (obviously) after book 5, The Order of the Phoenix. I love the series, but found myself a bit disappointed with the latter books. However, I will spare you my inconsequential rantings and get straight to the point. (If you personally wish to know of my complaints about the last book, feel free to send me a message). There are some things I would have liked to be different and thus, I have created this fanfiction, which I hope you will enjoy as much as I have creating it. There is much that is the same from The Half-Blood Prince, yet at the same time, there are major differences. I do not want to divulge too much for fear I will spoil the story. The changes are mainly character-driven, as I try very hard to keep everyone in character. I wanted the story to be more up to date, so Harry's 6th year will be taking place during the year of 2009. This will be more important for the sequel. So far, I am pleased with my story, and I hope you will be, too. This is my first fanfiction.

A preview and excerpt of the following chapter are included at the end, as well as an Author's Note and Footnotes, denoted by brackets [#].

HINT: Do NOT read after the 'end chapter' heading (it's very conspicuous) until finished reading the chapter itself if you don't wish to see any potential spoilers…

Also, just to let you know, only the prologue will be in all italics.

And now… the moment you've all been waiting for… Drumroll, please…

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Prologue

The Devil's Pact

"_I have obtained the information you have been seeking, my Lord."_

_The man in question was sitting in a plush, high-end armchair; he was so pale you would have thought he was a ghost._

_The first man handed the pale one an ancient looking piece of parchment, who examined it at once. He didn't seem quite human with his deathly white skin and pale eyes that would gleam red when angered. His nose was more like two slits for nostrils, much like a snake's. He was also unnaturally thin. This might mislead some to believe he is weak and frail… They would be wrong._

"_And you are sure this information is correct? If you are mistaken, you will face my… displeasure," the man hissed, his eyes cold and distant._

"_Yes," the first man whimpered. "Several reliable sources confirmed it independently, just as you requested, my Lord." Unlike his companion, there was nothing exceptional about this man's appearance. He was not an impressive figure, considerably shorter than the average man. What thinning hair he had left was unkempt, and he had darting, beady eyes and a rather weak chin._

_Apparently appeased, the taller man leaned back in his chair, "That is good; you have done well, Wormtail."_

"_Th-thank you, my Lord," the first man stammered._

_But the other man ignored him, not caring._

_It was almost complete. He had tracked down and relentlessly searched for ways to consolidate his hold on immortality. After years of investigating he had come across an ancient form of magic that combined blood magic, an ancient potion, and a powerful incantation. He had acquired the script and had been studying it industriously. Unbeknownst to lesser witches and wizards, there had once existed a magical language. Its roots were close to that of Latin, which a majority of present-day spells' verbal component was based on. But this magic language had long since been forgotten, and the spells used today were only a rough approximation of the original vernacular. This language had the ability to harness true magical energy in unparalleled ways and intensify the potency of a wizard's magic. He had once strived to rediscover the language, but eventually abandoned the idea when he realized that the undertaking was effectively unfeasible. But remnants of the language were not impossible to uncover. Prepared to discontinue what had increasingly seemed a fruitless endeavor, his years of labor had finally produced results. He discovered an elaborate invocation relating to immortality. He had strived to dissect and translate the different lettering and learn the exact pronunciation of the verse, hunting down old manuscripts and any scrap of information he could lay his hands on. It was securely concealed, although by now he could recite it from memory. In common tongue it more or less translated:_

Of blood, of death, are oaths sworn here

to forge eternal cov'nant full.

For unfulfilled desires dear

I forsake mine, and bid my soul.

_And now he had unearthed the last element. He was certain that the potions list his servant had procured was indeed correct. From the looks of it, the concoction was tremendously complex, but that was to be expected. He had a skillful potions master at his disposal that he could trust to do the work correctly. Everything was running smoothly. Much more painlessly than he had previously imagined; he had anticipated more problems._

_In addition, he had devised a plan that might very well permanently remove the boy who had quickly developed to become a thorn in his side. It was a long-shot, but still a chance. Even if this plot failed, it would not affect his overall designs. He felt an intense, grim satisfaction and gave a sinister, humorless laugh, putting the other man ill at ease, but he certainly did not care._

_Yes, everything was going according to plan._

_He would find a way to cheat death. He could not reach full power until Harry Potter was dead. He would triumph over the Boy-Who-Lived and cause those to ever question his power to quail in fear and never again doubt his authority…_

Somewhere, kilometers away, the aforementioned boy was viewing these very images during his slumber.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 1:

Harry's summer hasn't been an enjoyable one in the aftermath of Sirius' death. On top of that, he experiences another revelation from Voldemort. Harry endeavors to determine what it could possibly mean, wondering what potential trouble it might indicate. He also meets unfamiliar people and those that are familiar are acting rather oddly.

_He heard a vaguely familiar voice at the door. The Order wouldn't come here, would they? Harry made his way to the top landing of the stairway to investigate. His ears perked up even more when he heard his name._

"_I'm looking for a young man named Harry. Is he here?"_

_Upon further inspection, Harry discovered that it was the man he had met earlier that day. John, he remembered. Was the thing with Voldemort just a coincidence? Could he have been duped by the man's politeness and friendly demeanor? He was beginning to develop a sinking feeling in his heart._

* * *

A/N:

There you have it. This is my first fanfiction and I hope you all enjoy it. I know it's short but none of my other chapters will be this short, so don't worry about that. This was just the prologue. Please continue on to read my first chapter, and let me know what you think!

Signing off,

fanster


	2. Strangers and Strangeness

DISCLAIMER: I do NOT in any way, shape, or form, own Harry Potter or any of its settings, characters, etc. I feel as though this is unnecessary to reiterate, but I should cover all of my bases. Obviously, those completing _fan-fiction_ stories are not the authors of popular stories. Seriously. But writing this up doesn't take much effort, so I won't complain.

* * *

Chapter 1

Strangers and Strangeness

Harry woke up. He had dreamed for some reason that his Aunt Petunia had given him a necklace to be taken to the jewelers and he had to do it because she couldn't, as she was thirty weeks pregnant, and Vernon and Dudley couldn't because the chain was too small for their hands. Harry's were puny enough, she had told him. He would not be given supper until his task was completed. Molly Weasley came over and confirmed that unfortunately, his aunt was right and it was imperative that this be done as soon as possible.

So, he drove off to the jewelers and parked at the 'store', but what was in actuality Hogwarts. Walking through the halls, he entered an unused classroom which turned out to be an Aldi supermarket. In bookshelves similar to the library, instead of books, there were items such as laundry detergent, DVDs, cases of soft drinks, and oddly, Gilderoy Lockhart hair-care products. He approached the counter to see an old man with long silver hair and a flowing beard, who was wearing a doublet and a feathered cap. "Oh dear," Dumbledore said, "you seem to have brought me the wrong bird." Harry looked down to see a small green and yellow parakeet, reacting as if necklaces spontaneously transforming into birds were perfectly ordinary. Dumbledore didn't seem overly upset, although Snape and McGonagall entered through a door behind the counter eyeing him disapprovingly, McGonagall wearing a maiden's gown, Snape a jester's hat. Ron and Hermione, who had suddenly appeared behind him in line, looked distraught. Rita Skeeter, frantically typing on a computer nearby said, "My, my, won't readers be disappointed, Harry." Cornelius Fudge and his Uncle Vernon laughed heartily in the backdrop.

Very strange indeed. Maybe it was the onions he had eaten the night before. They always seemed to give him outlandish dreams whenever he ate them. Harry couldn't help but feel as though he were missing an important detail (which sounded completely ludicrous) or had dreamt of something entirely different and for some reason, couldn't quite put his finger on it. He dismissed the thought as being brought upon from morning grogginess. Hopefully, Harry thought darkly, he just forgot another dream about Sirius. He had begun to have such dreams frequently this summer and this nighttime vision, although extremely peculiar, was much preferable to those that haunted his thoughts and racked his conscience. They tended to put him in a grim mood for much of the rest of the day afterwards. Plus, trying to remember these dreams may cause him to revisit them again that night instead. They were certainly more interesting than anything he could do at Number Four, Privet Drive. No, they were quite welcome in Harry's mind.

Deciding that it was time to get up, he glanced at his digital alarm clock atop his bedside table. 7:23, he mused. He was surprised that he had been allowed to sleep in that late. Maybe his magic-loathing relatives just didn't want to deal with him at all, even if that meant he that didn't comply with all of their rules. He thought about staying in his room until one of them came up to fetch him but thought better of it. He didn't want to push them, as it was common knowledge in the Dursley household that he was prone to becoming somewhat petulant if he got into one of his moods (which seemed to happen often), most likely brought upon by thoughts of Sirius or his situation in the Wizarding world in general; not to say his situation in the Muggle world was desirable either. He would sometimes dwell on his last conversation with Dumbledore — sometimes with shame, sometimes with anger. In any case, he was fully awake now and the weather outside was gorgeous. As he looked out of the window the brilliant sun glowed down on his face and a gentle breeze played about his fringe of hair. He closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling. It had been an unusually cool summer, so the relative warmth was a welcome change. It was now nearing the end of July; tomorrow would be his birthday.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his uncle glanced up from his newspaper from the sofa in front of the television where he was currently sitting. He looked in his direction with disdain but said nothing. Harry responded in kind by walking past him into the kitchen without a word.

Aunt Petunia was cleaning dishes and pointedly facing away from him. He spotted a plate that consisted of a biscuit, an apple, and some cheese on the kitchen table behind her. He grabbed the food from the plate and decided to take it outside. There might have been a time when Harry would have thanked her — more to hopefully satisfy his extended family enough to convince them to continue the procedure than to express gratitude, as feeding your own nephew was hardly an exceptional act of munificence — but had since learned that they in no way wanted to admit that they would willingly assist 'one of those freaks' or anything remotely similar. So to even suggest it by thanking them would be considered highly offensive. It seemed paradoxical to Harry that someone would have such an objectionable attitude towards gratitude. Of course, they would never see it this way. It would have to be him trying to manipulate them into doing him favors. _As if they would!_ But then again, sometimes it was deemed incredibly rude of him to neglect to acknowledge their acts of 'kindness'; then he was just an unruly, ungrateful brat. Probably so they could punish him either way, he supposed. This was confusing as a child, but he soon learned that thanking them for something such as passing the salt was acceptable. Anything he did not specifically ask for was not.

His thoughts started to drift to what his life would be like if his parents were still alive — he might have younger siblings (much nicer than Dudley) — or even his godfather. His heart sank. _No, don't think about that_, he told himself. _No use in dreaming about what you'll never have_. He knew Remus would take him in, but his being a werewolf was a risk that he would not allow Harry take. The Weasleys would gladly accept him, but he needed to stay for that stupid blood magic, which he knew to his dismay, made perfect sense to continue. And besides, it wasn't quite the same. Ron's parents were more than kind enough to him, and he cared for them deeply, as well as the rest of the Weasleys, but they would always be his best friend's family. He loved staying with them, but he could just never see it as his home. Still, the Burrow would be his number one option for a summer residence. It was definitely more like home than the Dursleys' had ever been. But his true home, of course, was Hogwarts. Needless to say staying with Dumbledore didn't exactly appeal to Harry right now, but he knew Dumbledore was far too busy at any rate. And he already knew from Riddle's memories that students weren't permitted to stay at Hogwarts over the summer holidays. He simply could not stay at Grimmauld Place. Even though he was now the legal owner of the estate, he couldn't bear to be there. He would just brood on Sirius even more, which Harry wished to avoid at all costs. It was just too painful.

Taking the arching route of Magnolia Crescent, he heard the laughter of children nearby, swimming in an inflatable pool — they were young children, five to seven years old maybe — a girl and a boy. Their mother was supervising them close by. How nice it would be to be so careless and free of burden, he thought, finishing up his bread and cheese. Even as a child he had had many troubles weighing down upon his shoulders. _I wonder how things would've been different if that were me and my sister and our mum instead… Stop it!_ Quit doing that, he implored his brain. After Sirius' death, morose thoughts like this would creep into his head uninvited.

He made his way to the swing set in the small local park and sat down. Four boys, probably the same age as he was when he first went to Hogwarts, were riding around on bicycles. Two girls, who looked to be maybe three or so years younger, were entertaining themselves on the merry-go-round. A man, presumably one of the children's fathers, sat on the nearby park bench reading the newspaper, occasionally taking a sip from his express café drink.

He glanced up at Harry's arrival as his uncle had, but without any of the contempt he had shown. He looked to be in his early forties, with dark brown hair that was beginning to recede ever so slightly and receiving its first signs of graying. He was tall and thin. He had green eyes, although not bright emerald as Harry's, but more the color of jade. He had a handsome face, but was not conspicuously attractive.

Harry rocked slightly on the swing as he chomped on his apple and tried to focus on something other than the deceased.

How nice it must be to not have to worry about any impending doom, Harry reflected. Obviously, there were prowlers and offenders to be on the lookout for. Still, people pretty much trusted others in the unassuming suburban community, which was nice.

Today was a perfect day for a run, he pondered absently; not too hot, and not too cool. This summer, he had taken to exercising. He relished the physical exertion, pushing himself to his limit and the exhausted but satisfying feeling it brought.

He started with running, steadily increasing in distance and speed as he continued this routine. He knew there wasn't any rationale behind it, but he couldn't help but feel as though running accomplished more than pacing about aimlessly. Sure, he was only running for running's sake, but he felt a sense of purpose with each step. He could set goals for himself. Maybe it was just a good outlet in which to release his pent up frustration. Whatever the reasons, it made him feel better, and that was enough.

Sometimes, he would do pushups or pull-ups or sit-ups if he became tired of running. He could do sprints and change course to break the monotony. If he were feeling especially adventurous he would participate in a pick-up match of football or basketball, he'd even taken a crack at rugby on one occasion [1].

He did this at night time, as he was only permitted one shower per day ("We don't need you wasting all our water, boy!") and didn't want to go to bed sticky and smelly.

Even though this wouldn't help to hone his magical skills, it couldn't hurt. Besides, he didn't want to become solely dependent on magic for everything. There were many Muggle skills that were highly useful to have on hand, even if many wizards — the Malfoy's immediately came to mind — didn't believe so. And there were plenty of times when running had been beneficial in Harry's lifetime. Plus, he didn't yet have the ability to Apparate.

He also didn't mind the effects it had on his body. Over the summer, he had become more muscular and toned. Not that he was hulking or anything, but his body had matured and filled out some from being the scrawny boy he used to be. And it wasn't only his appearance, but his general well-being. He was less prone to becoming lethargic, even on the odd day when they would get the sweltering summer heat. His overall mood improved, which may have had something to do with the fact that he was able to get more rest in less sleep. Additionally, he felt more alert and energized. Even thinking seemed to become less draining. The only problem was that due to his sometimes rigorous workouts, he needed more nourishment, and not a small amount. But he knew his aunt and uncle would never provide it just because of his sudden affinity for running. They would more likely than not believe he was deliberately taking action to further inconvenience them. So he sent away Hedwig telling of his need for sustenance to Hermione. He didn't think Ron would understand his attraction to exercise and didn't particularly want to answer such questions, but he knew Hermione was staying at the Burrow and so requested that she inform Ron as well (or more to the point, Mrs. Weasley). Moreover, Hermione would understand Harry's penchant for exercise, both because of her being Muggle-born and also her general tact and attentiveness, which Ron lacked to some extent. Harry decided that Hagrid would be of no help in this situation. He was soon rewarded with two loaves of pumpkin bread and a rather large bag of oatmeal raisin cookies from Mrs. Weasley, as well as protein bars, some crackers and a jar of peanut butter, dried sausage sticks and beef strips, nuts, granola, and some dried fruit from Hermione, for which he thanked her and Mrs. Weasley profusely. He very much doubted that Ron would be offended for not receiving mention. Another reason Harry decided to tell Hermione was that she would know exactly what he needed. He loved Mrs. Weasley's cooking, but his ever knowledgeable friend would get him items more appropriate for the circumstances in which he was living. She had even sent along several packets of sports drink powder. Her thoughtfulness, though with which Harry was well-versed, seemed to have no limit and astounded him. He thought more than once how lucky he was to have such friends.

Well in any case, it would be cool that night and Harry supposed he would take a long but light run and maybe try and join in a game of basket —

"Ow!" he gasped as his scar twinged horribly. Simultaneously, there was that awful, familiar lurch at the bottom of his stomach. The pain was stronger than it had been for some time, almost blinding him. He fell to his knees, clutching his forehead in agony. He vaguely heard the crinkle of paper and the shuffling of footsteps approaching.

"Are you alright?" the man who had been sitting on the bench inquired, kneeling in front of Harry. Somewhere in the back of his mind through all of the pain, Harry registered that the man had a pleasant, baritone, yet gentle voice. Harry looked up through eyes watery from pain to see the concern covering the man's face. The girls were staring, now revolving excruciatingly slowly having halted their ride, and a couple of the boys had stalled to a standstill on their bicycles to observe.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." A sudden inspiration came to him. "I got a concussion during one of my rugby matches. My doctor said sometimes I'd experience sporadic pain in my head and not to worry too much, just take it easy after the first few days."

He had heard of such a brain injury from one of the other players, so he borrowed his story. Harry tried to give the kindly man a reassuring smile through his growing dread.

"Are you sure?" asked the man.

"Yes, but thanks for asking. I'd better go home and see if I need to take any pain meds or anything, just in case." He was exceedingly grateful and relieved that this episode was void of any maniacal laughter. The man would think he was some psychotic invalid that had gotten loose from the insane asylum.

"Do you need a ride? Or I can accompany you if you're not comfortable with that."

"I'm only a couple of blocks away. But thanks again," he said in sincerity, taking the hand of the man offering to help him up. It seemed at least some people were pleasant in this neighborhood.

"That's a strange scar," the man pointed out.

_Oh, if only you knew_, thought Harry glumly.

"Yes, I've had it since I was very young. I got it in a car accident as a baby," he said instead.

"Hmm. It looks like a lightning bolt or something, I've never seen one like it. My son would think it's very cool for sure," the man stated humorously.

Harry chuckled. "Yes, I suppose it makes me interesting." _In more ways than one_, he added in his mind. He surmised his scar was even more prominent than usual, as after such spells would usually leave it smarting red or hot-white in contrast to his skin.

Not wanting to be seen as being ungrateful or in too big of a hurry, and also because he was mildly interested he asked, "Where do you live around here? I don't believe I've seen you before."

"My name is John. I live on Sterling Street," he responded good-naturedly. Sterling Street was the road adjacent to Wisteria Walk, two blocks or so from Privet Drive. Noticing the man was looking at him somewhat expectantly, Harry supposed there was no harm in telling him his name or what street he lived on. John was obviously no spy or agent of Voldemort, or even a wizard at all. His aunt and uncle wouldn't be happy if he acknowledged his existence in such a way to a neighbor, but he didn't particularly care at the moment.

"Yeah, I live on Privet Drive. My name's Harry."

"I see. Well, it's nice to meet you, Harry. I hope you feel better, son."

"Thank you," he said with a slight pang at the word 'son', even though he knew it wasn't meant that way. "Have a nice day."

The kindly man smiled slightly and nodded, though still looked a little concerned.

Harry walked away as casually, yet swiftly as he could so as not to appear that anything else was amiss, but also because he didn't want to cause the benign man to think that he just wanted to get away from him, he had been quite nice. _Why couldn't my relatives have been more like that,_ he thought fleetingly.

As soon as he was sure that he was out of sight, he ran to the Dursleys' — he never really thought of it as his home.

His thoughts turned to Voldemort. What could be causing him to have such a sensation of grim satisfaction? Harry had felt Voldemort's feelings of extreme excitement, which bordered on euphoria, through the link they shared. The last time he was this happy, ten Death Eaters escaped Azkaban. Harry could only imagine what it was this time. Whatever it was, it could not be good at all. He would have to inform the Order at once.

He was broken out of his reverie by none other than his cousin Dudley.

"What are you doing?" he asked facetiously.

Harry didn't answer. He was already in a bad mood and trying to determine what to do at the moment; to lose control now would be unwise.

"Why were you talking to that man over there at the park? Trying to make some new friends?" his prodding continued. "Mum won't be happy when she finds out."

Still, Harry kept silent, trying to remain impassive.

"At least you weren't moaning in your sleep again last night."

To not lash out at Dudley was becoming increasingly difficult.

"You keep yelling out 'Sirius.'" Dudley laughed, tauntingly. "You're probably just having nightmares about your criminal godfather trying to murder you."

Harry's blood was beginning to boil over, and he was seeing red. He knew Dudley was just trying to provoke him into this kind of reaction, but that didn't stop Harry from wanting nothing more than to strangle his cousin at the moment.

"I wonder what your freaky friends would think about you dreaming of men so often. 'Sirius, don't leave me!'" he mocked. "'Sirius, please!' Ha ha ha!" Dudley must have noticed Harry's murderous look for he said, "What? Don't you like him anymore? Or maybe he doesn't like you, finally figured out that you're not worth the trouble. Or maybe he's just too busy out murdering peopl —"

"He's dead!" Harry had finally had enough. That Sirius was already such a sensitive topic combined with his anxiety caused him to finally lose it.

Dudley looked taken aback.

"And he wasn't a murderer! That was the stupid rat! And if you don't mind," Harry continued, "I've got to figure out why the true murderer, who's made it his life's goal to kill me, is extremely happy!"

Now Dudley looked a little frightened, as if he was worried that Harry had truly gone off his rocker. Not wanting to be distracted so he could sort everything through he implored, "Please Dudley, just leave me alone." Harry walked on, leaving a stunned Dudley behind him.

Seeming to snap out of his stupor, Dudley jogged to catch up to his cousin. "So, some guy really wants you dead? Why? Why does he want to kill _you_ so badly?"

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "That's a really long and confusing story. One you probably don't want to hear, and one your mum definitely doesn't want me telling you. Now run off like a good Duddykins and don't ask about anything to do with magic or," Harry whispered conspiratorially, "wizards". Annoyed that Dudley had decided to tag along, but realizing there was not much he could do about Voldemort at the moment except alert the Order, he decided he could tolerate Dudley's badgering. _The sooner I get back, the sooner I can think about this in my room. Alone._

Dudley, however, seemed abnormally unfazed by Harry's use of his despised pet name. "Couldn't you just go into hiding?" he asked, as if Harry were incredibly thick not to think of this himself already.

Harry was surprised at the sudden turn in this conversation. "He doesn't just want to kill me — although that's probably his number one priority — he wants to dominate all of Wizarding society which means almost all of my friends dead. I have to fight him."

"But why?"

Again, Harry was startled by Dudley's line of thought. But why was it, really? He was instantly reminded of his disastrous conversation with Dumbledore just a few weeks ago. He knew the contents of the prophecy. If he didn't fight, Voldemort would win. And he would do everything in his power to prevent that from happening. He would never desert the Wizarding world like that.

"Because I do," he finally responded.

They came to Number Four at last and went inside. Petunia was out in the back garden watering flowers (a pretext for spying on the neighbors) and Uncle Vernon was now at work.

He immediately went upstairs, separating ways with Dudley who was only coming home to watch the boxing match he had been anxiously anticipating for some number of weeks. It had been almost all he would talk about. Harry very much doubted that this would discontinue once the match was over, unfortunately. Dudley would still bring it up and analyze it long past the time Harry left for the summer. This was all fine by Harry, as long as his cousin didn't come up into his room and bother him about it. Since Dudley had taken up boxing himself, his body had slowly started to change. He had lost some weight, although he was still quite large, and he had become more muscular. While he was still not very athletic looking, it was a far cry from the grotesquely huge lump of a boy he used to be.

Once in his room, he closed and locked the door so as not to be disturbed. Pulling out some plain computer printing paper and a ballpoint pen (it would be faster than an ink and quill) he began to compose a letter. But what to write? _Hey, my scar hurt really bad and my stomach gave me a happy feeling?_ He also didn't want to unnecessarily concern his friends, either. He could just imagine his two best friends' reactions.

In his mind he could see the clearly troubled look on Hermione's face saying, "Oh, no, Harry, that's really not good. I wonder what this could possibly mean, I mean last time, it was because ten Death Eaters escaped. Is that what you think it is? He got a hold of something really useful and valuable? You should definitely write to Dumbledore. He'd want to know about this. Just be careful, Harry. Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself. I know you don't usually, but you know what I mean. Don't get into any trouble like with the dementors last year. You should probably stay inside. Maybe you shouldn't go running for a while." She would give him frantic advice to be cautious (she tended to ramble when she was nervous), and tell him to consult Dumbledore.

Ron would try to keep the concern off his face to show bravado, but ultimately fail. His red-headed friend would wear that familiar look of concern, mixed with a bit of awe, showing he was impressed with Harry's ability to feel Voldemort's emotions. "Wow, mate. I dunno, maybe Hermione could help you more with this. I don't know what you should do. It's kinda freaky, but it could be useful, too. What do you think it's all about? We'll tell the Order and the Aurors. Surely, they'll know what to do." Ron would also want Harry to be careful, but usually knew better than to harass him about it. They both knew he'd get enough of that from Hermione.

But Harry conceded that Hermione would probably right in this instance. He should let Dumbledore know. With an aching feeling he thought of how he would have normally written to Sirius about this, and how he couldn't anymore.

He copied two of the same notes for both Ron and Hermione. Although they were both at the Burrow, he wanted each of them to get his message as soon as possible:

_My scar hurt again today. I also had the same feeling in my stomach as the time before the Death Eaters escaped when I was with Umbridge last year. I don't know what this means, but it can't be anything good. I just thought the Order should know of this, and see if they know anything that would explain this. Don't worry too much. I'm safe here. I'm worried about you guys, though. Let me know if anything out of the ordinary happens and I'll do the same. Keep me posted. See you guys soon._

_Harry_

And now to Dumbledore's letter. He wasn't sure how to go about this, as he hadn't ever written a letter to the man before besides the simple 'yes' in reply to a letter Dumbledore had sent a couple of days ago. It took him awhile to get the wording just right, and after a couple of missed attempts and a few crumpled up pieces of paper he had it:

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I'm writing to you because I thought you'd want to know this, but my scar hurt today. It hasn't for a long time, since that night at the Ministry. I also got a feeling in the pit of my stomach of intense satisfaction, like I had the night before the Death Eaters escaped. I'm fine, but if this can help you fight Voldemort in any way then it's worth telling you. I've told Ron and Hermione as well, but that's it. They will let the Order know._

_I also think it might have had something to do with a dream I had last night, but I can't remember it. I know that sounds strange, but when I woke up this morning I remembered another dream I had that was just a dream, but had a strong feeling I was forgetting something else that was very important. Now that this has happened, I think it might have something to do with this. I don't know if that helps or not. Please, let me know if there's anything I can do to help._

_Harry_

Just as he had begun to wonder where Hedwig was, she entered his bedroom. Amazing, Harry thought. It's like they have this psychic sense that lets them know whenever their owner wants to send something. It seemed even owls would do a better job than Trelawney. He knew he should probably wait to send the letters to allow Hedwig to rest, but as soon as she saw them she flew over to Harry and stuck out her leg. He tried to ask her if she wanted a small reprieve but she defiantly ignored him, so he sent her off with the letters and thanked her for her fortitude. He made a note to himself to get Hedwig a special treat when she got back. After that, Harry had a small lunch and went back upstairs, waiting desperately for answers.

It was now late-afternoon, almost dinner time. He was about to once again begin his relentless pacing, trying to solve the mystery behind what could possibly make Voldemort this pleased for the umpteenth time when he heard a knock on the door.

This piqued Harry's curiosity, partly because it was a break from his circuitous and monotonous ruminations, but it was also unusual for the Dursleys to get any unexpected guests. Solicitors may find their way to the house occasionally, but this didn't happen often around supper time.

He heard a vaguely familiar voice at the door. The Order wouldn't come here, would they? Harry made his way to the top landing of the stairway to investigate. His ears perked up even more when he heard his name.

"I'm looking for a young man named Harry. Is he here?"

Upon further inspection, Harry discovered that it was the man he had met earlier that day. John, he remembered. Was the thing with Voldemort just a coincidence? Could he have been duped by the man's politeness and friendly demeanor? He was beginning to develop a sinking feeling in his heart. Either way, he was sure his aunt would not be happy. But if this was some ploy of Voldemort's, then she was in trouble. Harry made his was downstairs as the conversation continued ('Why?' his aunt asked suspiciously). Maybe he was just being paranoid. Perhaps John — if that was indeed his name — was just truly concerned and came to check up on him.

"I believe he accidentally dropped this at the park. He —"

"It must have slipped out of my pocket," Harry interceded before the situation would escalate into something unpleasant or his aunt dismissed the man by telling him they had never heard of Harry before (which had happened a few times to his knowledge). He quite wanted it back.

"Yes, that's mine. It must've happened when I was on the swing. Thank you," he voiced, now arriving at the door.

It was the object that Sirius had left in his possession. It had been after Sirius had died that Harry realized he had been named in his godfather's will for practically all of his belongings. He had quickly stopped by Sirius' vault at Gringotts and only took mementos that reminded him of Sirius, such as photo albums and other various paraphernalia, not wanting anything with the Black family crest plastered all over it. Sirius had hated that anyway. Harry did not stop by Grimmauld Place. He couldn't bring himself to go there.

He had taken to carrying around one item in particular. It fit comfortably in the palm of his hand, much like a small stone one would use to skip across a lake. It was oval and rather flat, with smooth edges. It felt comfortingly cool to the touch. It was silver, embossed with a large dog that reminded Harry strongly of Sirius in his Animagus form of a big, black dog. It had tiny sapphires for eyes. Harry inadvertently discovered that if he squeezed it tightly, it would emit a burst of bright light, like a camera flash. Harry himself — or he assumed the one using it — could see a faint glow, but would not be dazzled by its radiance. Everyone around him, however, seemed rather dazed and confirmed with each other that they had seen lightning. Although Harry assumed that its original intention was to be used for practical jokes, it could also come in handy someday.

"Oh, it was no problem at all," John said. Looking at Harry congenially he said to Petunia, "That's one good boy you raised."

It was all Harry could do to keep a straight face while observing his aunt's who was trying to do much the same, but to hide her appalled surprise, not amusement. After all, anyone who approved of such an insubordinate delinquent must be positively despicable. To avoid approving this statement, but not appear ruthless she said, "I'm sorry, but I don't believe we've met, and you are?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I'm John Bright. I've lived over on Sterling Street for, what, it must be about seven years now."

"I see," said Petunia appraisingly.

"And you must be Harry's mother."

"Aunt," she said abruptly.

"Oh, well…" he trailed off uncomfortably.

Noticing this Harry intervened, trying to diffuse the awkwardness of the situation, "Well, thanks for stopping by. I really appreciate it," gesturing to his keepsake.

"Really, it's no problem. It's hardly out of my way after all," John insisted. "Oh, and I hope you're feeling better?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I am. Thanks." In all that had happened, Harry had forgotten the anecdote he had used earlier or the head pain itself.

Now his aunt was staring at him bemusedly.

"Rugby can be a dangerous sport, you know," John half-joked.

Harry again had to contain his amusement, as now Petunia seemed even more mystified, but was obviously trying to hide it.

"Yes, he can be quite a handful sometimes," she said.

Seeming to miss the venom underlying these words, John nodded placidly, assuming it to be the exasperated, yet affectionate sentiments of a concerned guardian.

"Indeed," he agreed. "Well, good evening to you both."

"Good night."

"You, too," both Harry and his aunt gave their variations of farewell.

Closing the front door she turned to Harry, who was already making his way up to his room. She looked at him suspiciously, but apparently didn't think it offending enough to call him back or punish him. He suspected it was so she could bring it up when Uncle Vernon was around.

Lying down on his bed, he read _Quidditch Through the Ages_ to pass the time while he waited for Hedwig.

It was getting late. The digits on his watch read 11:42. He lay on his bed waiting for Hedwig to return. At last, she flew through the window. Harry hurried over to retrieve the replies. He pet her for a while then returned to the letters. As he opened an envelope, sitting at his desk he asked his snowy owl, "I don't suppose you know what's going on?"

She gave a dissenting hoot.

Harry got the feeling that he knew no more than she did.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 2:

Harry finally gets the opportunity to get away from Privet Drive for a while. The trio visits Diagon Alley and encounters mystifying activity in the cobbled Wizarding shopping area. The three friends disagree on what Harry believes is a significant discovery. Meanwhile, Dudley's been acting strangely and Harry attempts to determine the sudden change in his cousin's behavior.

"_At least I have a father, Potter," Malfoy commented snidely._

_This struck a nerve with Harry. "I'd rather have a dead father than one that slaves away for a monster and murders innocent people!" cried Harry._

"_How dare you!" screeched Narcissa._

"_Don't even start! I saw him bow to that evil creature and laugh as I was about to be murdered! I know what he's capable of. Only a foul, cruel, and sadistic individual could be what he is!" shouted Harry._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] When I say football, I mean American soccer. Harry lives in Britain, so I'm referring to the sport this way. I also think it's quite silly that while everyone else calls it football, we call it soccer and invented a different football, where the ball doesn't actually make contact with feet much. As you have probably already determined, I am American. Even though the Harry Potter books I read are Americanized, I considered using the British spelling for words like 'traveller' or 'favourite' but decided against it, as I might be forgetting other things and it would therefore seem inconsistent. But it just doesn't seem right for the British to refer to the sport as 'soccer', for the same reasons I kept 'Mum'. I also like using 'grey' instead of 'gray', but to be consistent I used the American version of the word.

Also, I hear it's unusual for Britons to use the word 'okay' and that 'alright' is much more common. I'm not sure if that's true or not, but if anyone from the UK or someone who has been there, etc. can give me some insight on that particular query, that would be wonderful.

A/N: As you probably know by now, this is my first attempt at a fanfiction, so it may not be quite as polished as I would like. So you'll just have to bear with me as I move along. I do hope that some of you will understand this and enjoy it regardless. Reviews are much encouraged! I will also consider any constructive suggestions. I beg of you, please stick with this story for the next few chapters before making any definitive judgments.

The dream was a bit strange, but I've had even stranger ones and I'm sure you have as well. I thought it would be a unique way in which to start the story with a dream that really isn't significant at all. It's the extremely odd ones that stand out more vividly in our minds anyway. I also wanted to start out with a bit more of a light-hearted mood than the prologue, as well as contrast it to the environment the world of Harry Potter is currently residing in. Normal, (well, regular) dreams still occur, and not everything has changed in the dark days of Voldemort's reign of terror. It's also one of my meager attempts to get some people to, hopefully, enjoy some material of a more comical matter.

Signing off,

fanster


	3. Mysterious Encounters

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter, I'm not getting paid, this is purely for enjoyment, blah, blah, blah. But as a heads up, some of this is taken directly from _The Half-Blood Prince_ (by J.K. Rowling, obviously). It's just the articles and one of the letters from Dumbledore, though. Nothing incriminating, as I've already mentioned I don't own anything Harry Potter. Too bad, then I'd be rolling in the dough. I probably wouldn't even need to be in college right now (although, I still would. Education is valuable. It would simply be much less stressful).

Scratch that. I took some material from the scene at Madam Malkin's, but only a little. Also, some of the dialogue at Fred and George's shop and Borgin and Burke's might be the same, but I think most of it is paraphrased. I promise I will put it back exactly the way I found it when I'm done borrowing it. ;)

* * *

Chapter 2

Mysterious Encounters

A constant, steady beeping filled the room. Shortly thereafter, a young woman pressed a button on her watch as the dial read precisely six o'clock.

She walked over to the bathroom and stood in front of the basin to wash her face. In the mirror, two golden brown eyes peeked out under a thicket of copper curls. But, Hermione thought, it had tamed a bit as she had gotten older. It was still somewhat bushy though not the absolutely horrid mess it used to be. It was a far cry from the beautiful hairstyles she saw on the magazines Lavender and Parvati were always reading. But she didn't mind. It was her hair and it was a part of her. She had no use for such things as those petty articles.

Today, she and the rest of the Weasleys would be visiting Diagon Alley to gather school supplies and such before the start of the school year. It would be her sixth year. _Only one year after this_, she mused. It seemed strange to her that her time at Hogwarts was coming to an end, when the day she had befriended what would become her two closest friends over a confrontation with a mountain troll seemed almost like yesterday. It was depressing to some extent, she loved Hogwarts — it was the place where she had truly discovered herself — but she was also excited about what her future might hold, what she could potentially accomplish in the wide Wizarding world and the countless opportunities it would bring. But best not get ahead of herself, she still had two more years after all. She also got the feeling she would be running abroad with her aforementioned best friends while attempting to defeat the darkest wizard of their time.

Hermione sighed, it was something she had gotten around to thinking more about lately and she wasn't happy about it. There was just this permeating feeling that something was coming, and something bad. It took residence inside her and made her heart feel heavy. Hermione wasn't usually one to trust such feelings and preferred to conduct with logic and reason, but there was no point in denying that times were getting darker. It came with a sense of foreboding, and more so because of her best friend, who always seemed to be at the heart of such affairs. Sometimes she feared the worst for Harry. At times, she worried herself to the point that it was all she could do not to scream in frustration, crying for help that would not come. All three of the trio had faced danger, risked their lives to some degree, but none more so than Harry. He alone had confronted Voldemort and had literally almost killed himself in doing so. And more than once. She constantly feared for his life or that something would go terribly wrong. She knew she couldn't control the actions of her sometimes recklessly fearless and exasperatingly self-sacrificial companion, but she knew that if there was anything she could do to keep him alive, she would.

Looking out of the window she could see her half-Kneazle, Crookshanks, chasing the ugly little garden gnomes that would infest the vegetable patches. She loved being here at the Burrow, it was eccentric, yet always vivacious; one would never fear for boredom, that much was certain. There was also a certain someone for whom she could no longer deny her growing attraction. She had tried to keep such suspicions to herself dormant, but the more time she spent with her other best friend, the more she wanted to explore other possibilities with the red-head, possibilities that transcended pure friendship. Sure, he could be aggravating at times, and he had more than a few habits that annoyed her (she knew she had a fair few herself), but that would be the case with anyone. And sometimes it was the differences that made people complement each other more than the similarities.

All of the girls in her year expressed their unanimous belief that she and Harry would end up together. She had never thought of Harry that way aside from on occasion trying to imagine what it would be like, but she realized he was the logical choice. He was sweeter than Ron, less uncouth, and they probably understood each other on a better level; but she couldn't get herself to feel that way about Harry, and she knew he felt the same way even though they had never spoken about it. There was constantly hostility between her and Ron, in which Harry often played the role of peacemaker, but she had to admit that she sometimes relished the searing tension that would often arise between them.

But she had no way of knowing whether Ron was only mildly curious about any kind of romantic relationship with her, or legitimately interested. She could hardly just walk up to him and ask him; he was never good with _feelings_. It would probably scare him away. She got the impression that he reciprocated her own feelings, but until he mustered the courage to ask her out, she would remain ambiguous.

She and Ginny shared a room, but Hermione discovered that Ginny was quite a heavy sleeper. She wouldn't get up for another hour or so. So, Hermione changed into some casual Muggle clothing — she did prefer them to the witch's robes that were customary in the Wizarding world. Even though their outing would take place in the Wizarding community, it wasn't uncommon for customers to wear Muggle clothing. She pulled on some denim jeans and put on a plain white long-sleeved tee. Over that she wore her favorite dark grey pea coat and a crimson scarf; it was oddly cold this summer. Hermione knew it was because of the dementors. All chaos had broken loose now that those awful creatures had free reign. And they were no longer attacking just wizards, but Muggles as well. It was just horrible. She had to repress a shiver just thinking about the terrible fate that awaited some of those who were accosted by the dementors.

She quietly made her way downstairs, although it seemed most of the Weasleys were heavy sleepers as well. Mr. Weasley was already at work at the Ministry, and Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen. None of the Weasley children were up and about yet. Hermione had become accustomed to this in all of her time at the Burrow.

Hermione didn't usually eat large breakfasts, but took some porridge and fresh fruit. After she was done, she thanked Mrs. Weasley, and went outside. Her boots crunched over the plentiful fallen leaves strewn across the yard. Apparently, the climate created by the dementors also prompted the plants to react accordingly. The emergence of autumn didn't usually materialize until late September or October.

The garden was a bit unruly, but she thought it exuded a certain charm and she was quite fond of it. It gave her a sense of inexplicable peace and contentment to be outdoors and smell the damp earth in a way that the Herbology greenhouses could not quite capture. The outside portion of the Weasleys' home was just as lively as the likable red-headed family rendered the inside to be. But now, she was waiting for Harry's answer. _Poor Hedwig_, Hermione thought, _she must be tired_. She looked skyward to see if she could catch a glimpse of the beautiful snowy bird.

She soon got her wish. Hedwig bore down from the sky and landed lightly on Hermione's shoulder. She accepted the letter from the owl's proffered leg and opened the envelope. On the paper inside were written three words: _Sounds good. Harry.  
_

. *** ._  
_

Meanwhile, a messy-haired someone was sleeping in his chair, having fallen asleep at his desk almost immediately upon sending his response after waiting almost all night for Hedwig to return with answers. His glasses were askew and he lay slumped in the chair with a piece of parchment gripped loosely in his hand, it read:

_Harry,_

_We have told Ron's parents, and they have alerted the Order and the Aurors. We don't know anything more at this time, but if they know anything about what happened, they will probably tell you when you arrive here. If Hedwig was intercepted, we wouldn't want that type of information falling into the wrong hands._

_Do be careful, Harry. I know trouble tends to find you and not the other way around, but if you see anything remotely suspect, promise me you'll try and avoid it. I don't mean to lecture you, Harry, but Ron and I worry about you. If anything happened to you, I don't know what we'd do._

_Anyway, if you can, we are going to Diagon Alley around 10 o'clock tomorrow morning if you'd like to join us, and so we can talk. We hope to see you there._

_Yeah, mate, you'd better be there, or we'll come take you from those Muggles ourselves (but obviously not by flying car). And obviously, this is Ron writing, Hermione's handwriting is just so damn neat it's almost scary._

_Anyways, Harry. Let us know as soon as possible whether or not we'll see you there. I do feel bad for Hedwig, though. Remember, Harry, if something else happens let us know immediately. We hope to see you tomorrow morning. If you are coming, how about we meet in front of Gringotts at 10:00? If not, we'll see you soon (Dumbledore said he'd be bringing you by on Saturday). Take care._

_Love,_

_Hermione and Ron_

On the desk in front of him, another letter lay open:

_Dear Harry,_

_If it is convenient to you, I shall call at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven P.M. to escort you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays._

_If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to the Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you._

_Kindly send your answer by return of this owl. Hoping to see you this Friday,_

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Next to this letter was the new one which read:

_Dear Harry,_

_Although I profoundly desire that there was no necessity for you to inform me of such grave matters, I am glad that you told me about your situation and ask that you do not hesitate to contact me if you should feel inclined to tell me anything, no matter how trivial it may seem. You have shouldered much burden in your life, Harry, I wish it were not so. But I must say, you have handled it with great valor and wisdom beyond your years. For that, I am very proud of you._

_When I come to meet you this evening, we shall discuss this at greater length, as we do not want such privileged information to reach unwelcome eyes. But what I can tell you is this, Harry: You are strong and I have no doubt that you will overcome whatever difficulties may befall you and I will do everything that I can to help you in this endeavor. You have friends who care deeply about you, as well. Never forget that._

_I have my suspicions as to why the connection behaved as it did, as well as why it has been seemingly dormant as of late. But again, I regret to say that is a matter which I cannot explain in great detail here. Rest assured, I do not believe anything of the magnitude of the last incident shall occur. But I have taken what you have brought to my attention into consideration and I will, of course, be on guard for anything that may corroborate with your account._

_Looking forward to seeing you later this evening and very much hoping our next correspondence will concern less dismal affairs,_

_I am, yours truly,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

An empty cage also sat on the boy's desk, and a half-eaten energy bar still in its wrapper. Other various papers lay on his desk, many of them newspapers with headlines such as _Harry Potter: The Chosen One?_, _Scrimgeour Succeeds Fudge_, _Ministry Guarantees Students' Safety_, and a pamphlet labeled _Issued on Behalf of the Ministry of Magic – Protecting Your Home and Family Against Dark Forces_ [1].

The boy began to stir. His lids fluttered open to reveal brilliant green eyes. Harry stretched his neck back in forth, it was cramped from lying in an uncomfortable position for much of the night. _I definitely won't be doing that again_, he thought. He made a silent vow to make sure he at least made it to his bed before falling asleep.

He had sent his letter to the Burrow telling Ron and Hermione that he would meet them at Gringotts. There was no need to send Dumbledore a letter as nothing had really changed in their plans. Dumbledore would be coming late and there was no chance of Harry not making it back in time, even if he stayed in Diagon Alley the whole day, which he planned to do. Being with Ron and Hermione for the day was much preferable to staying with the Dursleys. Getting permission was not a pleasant task, but had not gone as bad as it could have. Harry's educated guess was that the appeal of being completely free of him for the entire day overcame their desire to deny him something he would find enjoyable. He contemplated just bringing his stuff over to the Burrow this morning, but decided against it. It would be better when things weren't so hectic, having experienced some of the large family outings with the Weasleys.

He was eagerly looking forward to today. It was also his birthday, and bound to be better than previous birthdays spent at the Dursleys. Usually he would stay up until midnight, he didn't really know why, it was just something he had always done since that fateful night he had discovered he was, in fact, a wizard with magical abilities. That hadn't been a problem, as he had just finished sending off Hedwig again after she took a brief respite when it had turned midnight. Harry made a note to get something to reward her when he visited Diagon Alley today. He hoped that Hedwig would just stay at the Burrow and get some well-earned rest instead of flying back to Privet Drive, seeing that he would be arriving there soon thereafter anyhow. He knew his friends would have sent Pigwidgeon with their initial responses and let Hedwig do just that, but surely the minute bird couldn't handle the journey there and back without delay.

He thought back to Dumbledore's letter. The first letter he received from him he had reread to be sure he was indeed leaving Privet Drive for the summer. He reread Dumbledore's second letter simply because he was amazed. He greatly appreciated Dumbledore's letter, although felt some embarrassment at being so highly praised by him, but mostly humbled by the old wizard's generous words. He had received such praise before, but never in such an irrevocable fashion. Looking back, once again, to their last conversation, he felt even more ashamed. He had yelled at him, blamed him, broken his things, nearly threatened to hurt him and yet here the wronged man was, telling Harry he was brave and wise — that he, Albus Dumbledore, was _proud_ of him. It was nice. He had plenty of adults in his life now that cared about him (even if one of them was no longer around), but he had very rarely heard those words directed at him before. Not only that, but the Headmaster had asserted a confidence in him that he, Harry, wasn't so sure he had in himself. But what should he say to the man once he saw him for the first time after that dramatic incident? Knowing Dumbledore, he would act as if none of those things had ever happened for Harry's benefit, but Harry felt he owed it to him to apologize in some way.

It was still early. Harry had had a fitful night's sleep. His head had been too full of byzantine thoughts and quandaries. He was also excited to finally get away from Privet Drive and back into the Wizarding world at last after being cooped up with the Dursleys for two months.

The advantage of waking up this early was that Harry could eat whatever and as much as he wanted, as long as nothing was conspicuously depleted or missing. He poured himself a large bowl of breakfast cereal and enjoyed seconds as well, but not wanting to push his luck, refrained from eating more than that. He took an orange from the counter. Unsurprisingly, this was one of the food items Dudley didn't completely demolish.

He went into the living room. This early, he could even risk watching a little TV, albeit very quietly. He would turn it off and act as if he had just woken once he heard the tell-tale signs of his relatives waking up. Dudley slept in, so there was no need to worry about him.

He sat down and flipped through the channels, briefly listening to the news reports for any indication of something amiss, finally settling on the Sci-Fi channel where a movie, _Star Wars_, was playing. What little he had seen of it when he saw Dudley watching it he had liked, but he had never gotten to see the whole thing. There were two different trilogies from what he had heard. He had only ever seen the older ones. When he was living on his own, he would invest in a bunch of Muggle movies. Then he could watch whatever he liked, when he liked. That was one thing this world held over wizards, he thought, entertainment. Harry still wondered why wizards hadn't come up with something more technologically advanced than a quill and ink or carrier birds. The Muggle world was more innovative, that much was certain.

Suddenly he heard someone coming down the stairs. Were they up already? He looked at his watch, it was 5:42, his aunt and uncle usually didn't start their day until around 6:30. Surely Dudley wouldn't be up at this hour. But he saw the top of a blonde and unmistakably Dudleyish head descending the stairs. Harry wasn't sure which was more mystifying, that Dudley was up at this hour, or that he had awoken and made it that far down the stairs without detection. He was after all, quite large and not known for his stealth. Harry must have been preoccupied with his thoughts, he concluded.

Harry decided he didn't care whether or not Dudley ratted out his prohibited use of the television to his parents. What were they going to do after all? Unless Dudley had told them, for all they knew Harry's allegedly felon godfather was still alive to ensure Harry's treatment was satisfactory. And he certainly had no incentive to tell his aunt and uncle otherwise. Aunt Petunia could care less and would provide an apathetic, not sympathetic ear. Vernon would probably gloat. Harry couldn't take that.

He turned his attention back to the TV. When Dudley didn't say anything upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he glanced back at the massive boy. The expression on Dudley's face was slightly puzzled and pensive, a look which was foreign to Harry to see on his cousin's face, and not one of impish delight that he had been expecting. Maybe he was just tired from lack of sleep, he conjectured.

Then, to Harry's further amazement, Dudley sat down beside him on the couch, as if this were an entirely normal everyday occurrence and said, "Oh, it's _A New Hope_, this was always my favorite one out of the old movies."

After finally gaining his composure, Harry once again turned to face his cousin with what he presumed to be a look of utter shock and bewilderment, for that was exactly what he felt. For now, Dudley seemed to be intensely concentrated on the movie. But Harry knew better, Dudley was gauging his reaction. A very flummoxed and increasingly suspicious Harry demanded, "Alright, Dudley, what do you want?"

Dudley looked genuinely confused. "What?"

"Why aren't you telling me off for watching TV?" explained Harry, pointing out the obvious.

"I just don't see the point," was his simple response.

_What?_ Maybe aliens did exist after all and those conspiracy theorists weren't as crazy as everyone made them out to be. For it certainly seemed that one of the nicer aliens had decided to invade his cousin; the same cousin that had tortured him countless times and bullied him as a child, who took great satisfaction into making Harry's life as miserable as possible.

"Seriously?" was all he could seem to articulate.

Dudley nodded slowly, almost cautiously.

Harry was totally unprepared as to how to react to this completely unexpected event.

"Why are you up, anyway?" was all he could think to ask.

"Heard the telly on."

Forgetting for a moment the bizarreness of the whole situation, Harry (not wanting to wake up the other members of the household) whispered incredulously, "How? There's almost no volume!"

Dudley shrugged, "I sleep right above it. The vents probably make it easier to hear down here, too."

That made sense, Harry supposed. Still, why was he here, sitting and watching _Star Wars_ of all things with his purportedly unwanted, good-for-nothing, freak of nature relative of his?

Both of the boys sat in awkward silence for a few moments, with the drone of battleships and sounds of droids blasting futuristic guns in the background.

"Is your godfather really dead?"

Harry's heart froze. He still couldn't seem to shake that habit yet whenever his thoughts returned to Sirius. Is _this_ what Dudley came here to do; torment him mercilessly about his late godfather? But then why go through the trouble of playing nice in the first place? What could that possibly accomplish? He saw, however, that Dudley seemed authentically earnest, an expression Harry didn't think his cousin could feign.

He sighed in resignation, "Yes."

"And he really wasn't a murderer?"

"No."

Dudley nodded again and appeared to be steeling himself and didn't seem to be making direct eye contact with Harry, "Then… I'm sorry about what I said yesterday," he said quietly. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but was not forthcoming. Harry was stunned.

Harry just nodded as his cousin had a few moments earlier, wondering if this day could possibly get any stranger.

They sat and watched the film in silence until it was over, which didn't take too long as Harry began to watch it during the middle of the movie. Soon after that, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia came down. Nothing more was said. For the next couple of hours, Harry primarily stayed in his room, practicing the wand movements and incantations of spells for school using his pen as a substitute or else reading out of his previous years' books for review. This school year, he was determined to concentrate harder on his studies. It would be a good way to focus his energies, Hermione would be proud.

Currently, he was once again residing on the living room sofa. It was approaching nine o'clock. Mr. Weasley would Apparate to come get Harry around 9:30, no doubt because of the desire to avoid the Floo fiasco from two years ago.

Uncle Vernon had a doctor's appointment soon and was therefore still at the house, as it would have been pointless to go to work only to have to leave for his appointment so shortly after arriving. Now done with his peruse of the morning paper, he was watching the news station.

"There better be no funny business this time, boy, or I'll…" his Uncle Vernon warned. What exactly it was that he would do, Harry never found out, but he knew it wasn't anything pleasant. In any case, his uncle had gotten his point across successfully.

Unlike the last visit by the Weasley clan, the Dursleys clearly felt that there was no need to attempt to put up a front in order to impress Mr. Weasley. They probably thought he obviously wasn't worth the effort.

About thirty painfully slow minutes later, every entity in the house was preparing for Mr. Weasley's arrival in each one's own preferred method. Aunt Petunia was cutting fruit for a salad to keep busy in order to distract herself, but kept stealing glances at the fireplace even though Harry had reassured her that he would be utilizing the front door this time around. His uncle was pacing around restlessly while Dudley just sat in the living room watching the various proceedings with a detached interest. Harry was still sitting as motionless as possible on the couch, waiting for Ron's dad to call; he was sure he was just as nervous about this encounter as anyone else in the house. He very much desired to be pacing about like his Uncle to vent his anxieties, but refrained from doing so. He also took note that Dudley was still behaving abnormally, and he wanted to know why. But he could think of nothing that would explain this oddity.

The affable red-haired man was due any minute now. The doorbell rang, as expected, although you wouldn't have guessed it by the reactions of the inhabitants of the residence in question. The three males dropped what they were doing in an instant and stared at the door as if it was about to do something rather dramatic. A yelp was heard from the kitchen confirming that the woman inside, in her alarm, inadvertently cut her finger when the knife she was using slipped.

While Uncle Vernon went to check on Petunia, Harry had recovered from his momentary paralysis and went to answer the door. Mr. Weasley, it seemed, had improved his ability to don the appearance of an ordinary Muggle. He was wearing some khaki slacks, a light blue button-down shirt, a brown corduroy jacket, and an old-fashioned golf cap.

"Hello, and Happy Birthday, Harry. Doing well, I hope?" he inquired genially.

Harry smiled. He had great respect for his best friend's father, and enjoyed his company. "Thanks. Much better now that I can get away from here for the day," he replied in kind.

Mr. Weasley's eyes took on a mildly sympathetic tone, but he also looked pleased that he could be a source of relief for Harry.

"So are you ready, Ha —"

But the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the sounds of increasing panic emanating from the kitchen. Vernon was running to get the first aid kit. Or more like attempting to run, as the concept was in and of itself, quite absurd.

"Oh, dear," said Mr. Weasley. Arthur Weasley, being of a kind-hearted and gentle nature, had the first instinct to lend a hand as soon as he saw the injured finger. It was bleeding quite a lot. "I can help you with that," he said, eager to help.

Harry's aunt reacted as if he had offered to amputate her arm and Uncle Vernon looked like Mr. Weasley had just maliciously threatened his wife. It seemed that Mr. Weasley had a shorter memory regarding his last visit to the house which had ended with him being the target of flying, not to mention hazardous, objects.

"Now you listen here —" Vernon began.

"I'm just trying to help," Mr. Weasley urged somewhat exasperatedly.

"He was the one who helped last time," put in Dudley.

They all wheeled around to stare at him. All with varying looks of astonishment.

"It was those stupid twins that messed me up, and he put me right," he explained as if they weren't there at the time, with a slight nod in Mr. Weasley's direction.

Harry realized his mouth was agape and quickly closed it. A glance in his uncle's direction told him he was just as dumbfounded — although hopefully Harry didn't look quite as much like a tomato, while his aunt looked suddenly unnerved. Through all of this, Mr. Weasley cautiously approached Harry's aunt and uttered "curatio" and a quick "scourgify" to clean the blood off before she could protest [2].

Uncle Vernon's face was scaling upwards on his purple-o-meter and he was babbling like a fish out of water. Aunt Petunia, on the other hand, seemed to have closed up, as her face was expressionless although her eyes were wider than normal. Meanwhile, Harry's uncle seemed to have regained the ability to emit sounds. "Wha — tha — you!"

"Well, that ought to do it. Now, Harry, if you're ready, we'll be off," the older man said quickly but calmly. "We wouldn't want to impose on your relatives." Apparently, he had too noticed that the large, mustached man was turning a deep shade of puce.

"I'm ready," Harry supplied hurriedly. He turned to face his disarrayed relatives. "Well, see you later," he said by way of farewell. This time, Mr. Weasley did not stay to complain about his relatives' lack of goodbyes. Of course, Harry would be seeing them later on anyway and Dudley had given him a curt nod. But 'why' was the singular word pervading Harry's mind.

Then the two wizards stepped outside, shutting the door behind them.

"So, Harry, how _are_ you doing?" the man asked, as if now Harry were free to tell him in honesty away from his derisive relatives. But Harry got the feeling he knew what Mr. Weasley was really asking, but didn't have the heart to voice aloud.

"I'm fine. Really," he lied. "It's been tough," he conceded at the Mr. Weasley's disbelieving look, "but I think getting out a bit will be good for me. I'll be alright." Harry was slightly exasperated, knowing he would get those pitying looks from everyone, but was nonetheless pleased with the knowledge that the man was truly concerned for his well-being.

"Alright, then. Shall we?" he said, proffering an arm.

Harry looked up at the taller man questioningly. "We're not using a Portkey?"

"Oh, no. Those are typically used for large gatherings and are rather complicated to set up — Portkeys must be approved by the Department of Magical Transportation. Have you ever heard of Side-Along Apparition?"

Harry shook his head, but could guess what it was.

"Just grip my arm, and you'll be fine." He looked at Harry thoughtfully, "I must warn you, though, it's a little uncomfortable the first couple times around."

Harry nodded and grasped the elder wizard's arm as instructed.

Then quite suddenly, everything went dark and Harry felt extreme pressure everywhere on his body. His chest was tight, making it difficult to breathe. It was as though he were being sucked through a vacuum. But just as Harry began to form the thought that this mode of transportation just might be worse than traveling by Floo, it was over.

He gasped for air and wondered, "You have to do that all the time?"

Mr. Weasley chuckled, "I guess you get used to it." Indeed he seemed unaffected by the sensation.

Taking in his surroundings Harry realized where they were.

"Couldn't you have Apparated directly into Diagon Alley?"

"I'm afraid not. There are limited Floo grates, but no Apparition inside or Portkeys unless given special authorization from the Ministry. Aurors, for example, have unrestricted access; and, of course, the Minister of Magic among a few others. Security has been much more stringent now that You-Know-Who is out in the open."

_Now that they believe me and Dumbledore_, Harry thought.

"Anything to drink for you, sirs?" said the toothless landlord invitingly. The Leaky Cauldron was the first taste of the Wizarding world Harry had experienced, and realized just how famous he was.

"No, thanks. Not today, Tom."

Tom nodded went back to cleaning the counters, "Well, have a good day then."

"You, too," both Harry and Mr. Weasley replied.

They went out of the pub and back to the alleyway that transformed into the archway that would lead to Diagon Alley. Mr. Weasley tapped the bricks accordingly and soon, they had entered the major Wizarding shopping center of Britain.

As they approached the Gringott's building, Harry saw two very familiar figures in the distance, one with somewhat bushy brunette hair, and the other taller, gangly personage with flaming red hair.

Harry smiled broadly upon seeing his two best friends. Ron returned it and greeted, "There you are, Harry. I was beginning to worry; I was getting hungry," he joked. Hermione shot a look of mild disapproval at Ron but stepped forward to give Harry a quick hug. "It's good to see you, and happy birthday," she said.

"Yeah, mate. Happy birthday." Everyone else also gave their happy birthday wishes to Harry.

"It's great to see you guys, too," Harry said truthfully. Molly and Ginny were there as well. Hagrid was also there for security purposes.

"Hi, Harry. Happy birthday," said Ginny.

"Thanks," replied Harry. Long gone were the days when Ginny would act extremely shyly around him, for which Harry was grateful.

Mrs. Weasley came over to envelope Harry in a hug as well.

"It's so nice to see you, dear," she said.

"You, too," he replied.

Then he turned to hug the massive man he had befriended so long ago. Thinking back on it, Hagrid was Harry's first true friend.

"How're yeh doin', Harry?" asked the gentle giant.

"Great, Hagrid. How's Grawp?"

"Oh, he's doin' jus' great, Harry. Yeh should see 'im. He's even speakin' some full sentences and everythin'!" he said enthusiastically and gesturing with hands as he tended to do when he was excited.

Harry was glad Hagrid had something to be happy about and couldn't help but smile some more. "That's brilliant, Hagrid," he said sincerely. The gamekeeper beamed.

"Thanks again for the food and everything," he said to the maternal woman and directed to Hermione as well with a grateful look.

"Oh, it's no problem, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley reassured.

"Of course, anytime, Harry," provided Hermione.

Ron put on an affronted look, "That's the last time I bake you cookies. I slave away all day in the kitchen cooking like a Muggle and this is the thanks I get!"

Harry laughed. He dearly missed his friend's humor.

"It's too bad others around the house don't appreciate things like that," Ron's mother scolded mildly. "And of course, we'll be celebrating your birthday when you come to stay over at our place, Harry dear. I won't take no for an answer! Well, Ginny and I are off to get her potions supplies. How about we meet you lot here around lunchtime, say 12:30?"

The three acknowledged their assent and the group went their separate ways.

Ron and Hermione had already collected their money, but Harry hadn't, so the three friends went into to Gringotts.

Once they were alone they cut to the chase.

"So, Harry, what happened exactly?" asked a worried Hermione. Ron looked attentive.

"I told you, I got that feeling in the pit of my stomach, like something really good happened. I think I had a dream about it earlier, but I can't remember it. I just remember waking up feeling like I was forgetting something important," responded Harry.

"You really don't remember anything, not even a small detail or an impression that comes to mind?" Hermione inquired.

"Nothing. Well, I remember a different dream, but it had nothing to do with Voldemort. It was just a dream, nothing like the visions I've had before," Harry replied.

"Maybe the connection isn't obvious," pressed Hermione.

"No, whenever I've had them before, I was in a dream and all of a sudden the next moment I was somewhere else. But the visions felt real, like I was there. And I really don't see how my dream could have anything to do with Voldemort." Harry went on to describe the dream he had had the other night. By the end, Ron was in hysterics and Hermione, while less amused appeared to be reassured that the dream really did have nothing to do with his connection to Voldemort.

"Snape in a joker's hat! That's brilliant, mate," Ron chortled.

"I didn't even know you had jokers in Wizarding culture," said Harry.

"Well, they're not just people who tell jokes. Way back when we still had kings, there were actual jesters, but they were a brightly colored sort of half reptile, half mammals. All they could do was tell jokes, kind of like how swear toads just curse all the time. They supposedly had three tentacle things, too. That's probably why they wear hats like that," explained Ron [3].

"I never knew that," mused Harry. "I just wish I could remember the vision as well."

"You never know, Harry," Ron said very seriously, "This dream could just be telling you to send some of Lockhart's best hair-care products to You-Know-Who and he'll die of the envy at not having any hair." This gave Harry a hearty laugh. Hermione, though she rolled her eyes in apparent exasperation at Ron's inability to take anything seriously, looked slightly amused. But Harry didn't stop. He hadn't laughed like this in a long time — it was just too ridiculous. Ron joined in, and by the time Harry finally stopped guffawing, even Hermione was smiling and laughing a little, shaking her head. He had to bend over and clutch at a stitch in his side. He patted Ron on the shoulder, "Ha ha, boy, I really need that," he said earnestly. Ron smirked in appreciation. They walked on for a couple of moments in companionable silence.

"Well, we told the Order what you wrote," said Ron, legitimately serious now.

"Did they have anything to say about it?" asked Harry, now fully recovered from his laughing fit.

"You know how the Order is, Harry." replied Hermione. "They said they didn't know exactly what it might mean, but might have an inkling of what it could be. They were very ambiguous, as usual, and said that we should leave it to them and if we see anything to tell them, but not to proactively investigate the situation."

"Yeah basically, don't do anything and let us adults handle it. We've done more than most fully-grown wizards have, you'd think they'd believe we've proven ourselves by now. Especially Harry," argued Ron. "But there's probably not much more we can do about it anyway."

Hermione looked like she wanted to say something, but appeared to be biting her tongue. "What do you think, Hermione?" urged Harry.

She hesitated for a split second and then declared, "I agree with Ron. There's nothing to be done about it. All we know is Voldemort felt happy; that's enough to worry me, but it doesn't give us any leads. The best we can do is stay alert for anything suspect."

Ron looked satisfied that she agreed, but Harry made a mental note to confront her about it later.

"So, where should we go now?" asked Ron.

"I know my supply of parchment is running low," suggested Hermione.

"I need more ink," added Harry.

"Then Scribbulus' it is," decided Hermione.

And so the trio wandered down the winding paths of Diagon Alley to the writing instruments shop.

They all got what they needed, and then headed down to Flourish and Blotts to procure their required books. ("Might as well get the dull parts over with," Ron said, to which Hermione looked at him reproachfully.)

"Can we stop by the Owl Emporium?" asked Harry remembering the vow he made to himself last night, "I need to get something special for Hedwig."

"Ooh, that's a wonderful idea, Harry," Hermione exclaimed, "I felt bad for how much distance she had to cover over so little time. I should probably get something for Crookshanks at the pet store nearby as well."

"And I don't have to worry about getting any rat tonic this time," said Ron glumly. He was still a little put off by the fact that it was a man, albeit in rat form, that he had kept as a pet and slept with in his bed. Hermione patted his arm sympathetically.

Looking around at the shelves, Harry wondered what he could possibly get Hedwig. He wanted to give her something other than owl treats, although he would get those, too. Hedwig didn't seem like a particularly playful bird, and so he decided to forgo getting any toys or gyms. He could practically picture Hedwig's look of condescension as he presented her with a jungle gym. He finally decided on a sort of tent or cubby for her to sleep in comfortably. But he wasn't completely satisfied with his selection. He approached the counter with the items and the cashier asked if there was anything else he wanted. Harry told him of the situation and how he wanted to get something nice for his owl.

"Well, I can show you something that we just got in stock. It's a new patent [4]. Asher, would you mind?" the man asked the clerk who looked to be only a couple years out of Hogwarts. He went into the backrooms and soon emerged with a small band not even big enough to fit Harry's pinky finger. The older man took it and presented it to Harry. "This is an owl-tracker. It will tell you where ever your bird is on this screen: the name of the location, as well as approximately where your owl is indicated as a dot over a map. It's accurate up to about ten meters," he said proudly, showing Harry a screen about the size of a poker card. "All you have to do is put this band on her ankle. It comes with instructions for the magical incantations to get it on and to activate it."

"So it's like a GPS," he mused, almost to himself.

"A what?" the man looked confused.

"Sorry, it's a Muggle term," Harry explained. He had learned a lot from Dudley, it seemed.

"Another neat device is that you can also communicate with your owl — well, she'll be able to hear you anyways. Owls are smart, they'll understand what you want. So if you need her immediately or realize she might be in danger, you can tell her to come back."

Harry was impressed. "How much is it?"

"It does come with a rather hefty price," he said a bit hesitantly, "but it's well worth the investment, I think — especially now that owl interception is becoming a bigger problem these days," he plugged on earnestly. "It totals out to seven galleons, four sickles and twenty-one knuts."

Harry weighed it out it his mind and came to a decision.

"I'll take it."

The man looked happy. "Thank you very much, sir. Business hasn't been doing well lately," he added less happily.

Harry could understand that.

"I'll tell you what, next time you visit, I'll give you a nice discount," said an older man, presumably the manager, who had apparently observed the exchange. He looked to be in his sixties, was bald on the top of his head, but with a full mustache. He reminded Harry of the congenial grandfather on old television shows who would wear luxurious red robes while lounging on a large office chair with a glass of wine and smoking a pipe, or a cigar.

"Oh, you don't have to do that —" Harry began.

"I insist," he interceded. The younger man nodded his head eagerly.

"Alright, well, thanks. Have a nice day," said Harry politely.

"And to you as well," the businessman said in return.

"Bye," said the friendly younger man.

There was no time to stop anywhere else, so the group decided to head over to the agreed upon meeting site. Once there, they decided to get lunch at a nearby deli. They had all manner of various sandwiches and soups. Harry contemplated what the salamander soup might taste like and didn't want to go near the chopped mooncalf's liver sandwich, but decided to play it safe and get a French dip au jus.

"I want to see Fred and George's place," requested Ginny.

"We will, once we're done shopping. How about we all go there around five? That should give everyone plenty of time to finish up," said Mrs. Weasley.

Harry knew that he was the reason for this, as shopping shouldn't take that long. But she obviously understood that Harry wanted to spend time with his friends. He was very grateful for this.

After lunch, they headed over to Madam Malkin's. Ron and Harry were in desperate need for new robes, as they had grown quite a bit over the summer. Harry wouldn't be surprised if Ron surpassed 6'2" by the time he was done growing. He guessed that he himself would end up being 5'10" or so [5]. In any case, they both would need a new set if they didn't want to have their arms and ankles hanging out.

Upon entering the store, they were greeted by none other than the sight of Draco Malfoy and his mother. The pale boy was standing on a stool, getting his robes fitted. He looked over disdainfully and said, "Well, well, what do we have here? Potty and the Weasel and their pet?"

"Ow! Watch where you're putting those pins, woman," protested Malfoy.

"I'm sorry, I'll try to be more careful," replied the disgruntled tailor.

"Shut it, Malfoy. I'm warning you…" Ron threatened.

"Or what, exactly? Excuse me if I'm not quivering in fear over here," said Malfoy.

"It's fine, Ron. Don't make such a fuss over this," insisted Hermione.

"You'd better listen to the underling, Weasley. We wouldn't want to start something unsavory. Besides, I wouldn't want to get any mud on my new robes."

"Now, really, that's quite enough!" declared Madam Malkin.

"What's the big idea? I told you not to stab me with that thing!"

"Don't worry, it's probably not his fault," said Harry. "He was just raised by a monstrosity of a father. How's he doing by the way, all cozied up with the dementors?" he asked.

"Really!" exclaimed an indignant Madam Malkin.

"Harry, please, don't do this," pleaded Hermione.

"It's _your_ fault he's even there in the first place you mongrel brat!" exclaimed Narcissa vehemently.

"There's no need —" began Malkin.

"At least I _have_ a father, Potter," Malfoy commented snidely.

This struck a nerve with Harry. "I'd rather have a dead father than one that slaves away for a monster and murders innocent people!" cried Harry.

"How dare you!" screeched Narcissa.

"Don't even start! I _saw_ him bow to that evil creature and laugh as I was about to be murdered! I know what he's capable of. Only a foul, cruel and sadistic individual could be what he is!" shouted Harry.

"Harry, it's not worth it. Honestly," Hermione implored.

Narcissa took a step towards Harry, he whipped out his wand in one swift motion.

"Wands away, please!" squealed Madam Malkin.

"I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you," breathed Narcissa.

Harry looked mockingly all around the shop. "Wow… look at that, he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find a nice double cell for you and your loser of a husband!" Malfoy made an angry movement toward Harry, but stumbled over his overlong robe.

Ron laughed loudly.

"Don't you dare speak to my mother like that, Potter!" Malfoy snarled.

"It's all right, Draco," said Narcissa, her voice cold with barely contained fury, "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius." Harry raised his wand higher.

"Harry, no!" moaned Hermione, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. "Think. You mustn't… You'll be in such trouble!"

Madam Malkin dithered on the spot for a moment, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn't.

With great deal or restraint, Harry lowered his wand and settled for glaring at the pair as if he could burn a hole through them with his mere gaze.

"Come, Draco. Let's leave this dratted place. Now that I know what vermin is allowed to shop here, I think Twilfitt and Tattings would more satisfactory." And with that, Draco threw off his robes, and the two strode out of the shop — Draco taking care to slam the door loudly.

"Well, I'll be!" exclaimed Madam Malkin.

When the three were finally done, Madam Malkin seemed quite relieved to see the backs of them.

The rest of their day was much improved, visiting the sweets shops and joke shops. Harry noticed the streets were rather empty save for street vendors attempting to sell amulets, charms and other trinkets to what customers were out and about. They were trying to capitalize on the ever growing fear of patrons from the threat of Voldemort. Mr. Weasley had explained that many of them were selling these items illegally and that his new department was arresting such people.

The trio stopped at Florean's for ice cream [6]. Harry also observed that some shops were closed. All in all, the normally bustling and vibrant shopping center was pretty gloom. Nevertheless, Harry was very glad to be there, but the stark reminders of the times they were living in were somewhat depressing.

It was mid-afternoon, and they only had a couple of hours until it was time to meet at Fred and George's place. Harry was quite looking forward to seeing it. He and Ron wanted to look in Quality Quidditch Supplies, however, Hermione said she needed to procure some ingredients for Advanced Potions, and as he and Ron did not receive Outstanding OWLs on the subject there was no need for them to accompany her. The two boys offered to go with her, but she insisted that she had no desire to roam around at the Quidditch store and this way, they'd be done faster. So they departed ways with Hermione for the time being.

. *** .

_As if I'd want to stand and watch them drool over broomsticks_, Hermione thought to herself. She loved her two best friends, but knew that in terms of interests, she had the least in common out of the group.

So instead, she would acquire the necessary potions ingredients. Now entering advanced potions, they would be concocting more complicated and potentially dangerous potions and consequently, the ingredients would also be more hazardous, so she would have to go to the potions store in Knockturn Alley.

There were almost no people out, not wanting to be suspected and detained for any illicit conduct. She probably should've told Harry and Ron that she would be making a trip there. They would have demanded to come with her of course; they could be so overprotective at times. Hermione didn't have any older brothers of her own, so this must what it would be like, she surmised. On the flip side, constantly having to remind them to do their homework was like having younger brothers, _or children_, she thought. And if truth be told, she didn't want Harry going near Knockturn Alley. He had an uncanny knack for attracting trouble. Collecting herself, she strode purposefully toward the potions shop. Once finished, she started to head back to Diagon Alley, planning to go to the Quidditch store where her friends would still undoubtedly be. But a voice held her back.

"What are you doing here, Granger? Why aren't you with those morons you call your friends?" said a drawling voice.

"Is there a reason I can't be here, Malfoy?" she responded with venom.

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm getting my ingredients for potions, if you must know." The sooner she could shake him loose, the better. "Why aren't you with your mother?" solicited Hermione, more to distract him and get away from him than because she was genuinely interested.

His face hardened for a split second, then became impassive once more. _Ah_, Hermione thought, _she doesn't know where you are. Isn't that interesting?_ He scoffed, "You're more of an idiot than I thought. Granger, you're _Muggle-born_," as if it was the most obvious explanation and her failure to recognize this was a serious oversight.

"So? What of it? I have every right to be here if I wish," she snapped.

The blond boy rolled his eyes. "That's not what I'm talking about." (_What could he possibly be talking about_, thought Hermione). "People here, they know their old Wizarding families, they'll see you for what you are."

"What does that matter, as long as I'm a paying customer? As for everyone else, they wouldn't dare attempt anything in broad daylight with the authorities so near unless they were tremendously dense, in which case — I'm a fairly competent witch — I could handle them."

Draco sighed. "You just need to get out of here."

"Well, excuse me! I suppose —"

But the rest of her sentence was cut off as Draco grabbed her roughly by the arm and started to drag her away.

How dare he? But instead of expressing this sentiment and ripping her arm away like she would very much like to, she found herself utterly perplexed over this odd behavior more than anything, and frozen in shock.

"Wha — what do you think you're doing?"

Draco didn't answer.

Suddenly, a man came out of a side-alley to meet them. "Well, well, what's this? Got yourself a lady friend, have you, young Malfoy?" Hermione flushed with anger and embarrassment. _As if!_ But before she could unleash her indignant and scathing reply, Malfoy supplied one instead.

"She's no one. She was just leaving," he said, working his last sentence through gritted teeth and a glare.

The man gave her a calculating once over. She was starting to become extremely uncomfortable. She unconsciously moved closer to Draco. "Well then," the man said appraisingly, "if she's not yours, you wouldn't mind if I borrowed her, would you?" he spoke menacingly.

She glanced up nervously at Draco. Surely even _he_ wouldn't do such a thing. Unless this was all a set up for some really bad prank, and she didn't think she could overpower both of them. Hermione began to panic a little.

Draco, however, looked merely impatient and disinterested. "Sorry, but we really must be going," was all he said in response.

He took her by the arm once again and led her away. Once they reached the point where Hermione could see the white Gringotts building in the distance, Draco turned her around to face him. "And that was one of the more pleasant people you'll find in Knockturn Alley, if you believe it or not." Hermione wrenched her arm out of Malfoy's grasp. Somewhat abashed, but not enough to admit it she protested, "I can take care of myself, Malfoy." Even to her it sounded weak.

"Yeah," he sneered, "you were doing a terrific job."

"What's it to you?"

He didn't respond for a moment. "Just stay away from here if you know what's good for you, Granger." He started to walk away, but turned around and said, "I swear, if I catch one glimpse of your bushy head in there again…" Then he left, leaving his alleged threat unfinished.

What was _that_ all about, thought Hermione? Why didn't he just leave her there? Did he actually care for her well-being? Of course not, that was preposterous. What a horridly ludicrous thought. It must be so he can have something new to taunt her about. She'd bet anything that he'll gloat loudly about having to come to the 'rescue' of the poor, hopeless Mudblood. As if she'd owe him a favor! Yes, that must be it… And yet, questions remained, buzzing around in her head.

She met up with Harry and Ron, but didn't tell them of her encounter. She wasn't even sure what she'd say.

They went to Fred and George's shop after joining the other Weasleys.

. *** .

Draco walked briskly to find his mother. He knew she wouldn't be pleased that he had sneaked off, but he had business to attend to. She would worry so much about him. He knew she meant well, but it could be quite aggravating at times. Not as aggravating as that bushy-headed know-it-all, Granger, he thought.

What did she think she was doing, walking by herself on the streets of Knockturn Alley? He wasn't even sure why he was so angry with her. Probably because she was being so stupid. Besides, he would never hear the end of it if something had happened to the insufferable female momentarily after encountering him from her dim-witted companions. And he'd rather not have to deal with them. He had more important things to do. Yes, that must be it, he told himself. He just didn't want to have to tolerate the presence of the golden boy and his trusty side-kick any more than he had to.

. *** .

Walking along the cobbled streets, Mrs. Weasley remarked, "We must be close, that's number ninety-two… ninety-four…"

"Whoa," said Ron, stopping in his tracks.

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shops around them, Fred and Georges windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, and a few rather stunned-looking people had actually come to a halt, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked; Harry's eyes began to water just looking at it. The right-hand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO.

YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO — THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION

THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!

Harry started to laugh. He heard a weak sort of moan beside him and looked around to see Mrs. Weasley gazing, dumbfounded, at the poster. Her lips moved silently, mouthing the name 'U-No-Poo.' "They'll be murdered in their beds!" she whispered.

"No they won't!" said Ron, who, like Harry, was laughing. "This is brilliant!" And he and Harry led the way into the shop. It was packed with customers; Harry could not get near the shelves. He stared around, looking up at the boxes piled to the ceiling: Here were the Skiving Snackboxes that the twins had perfected during their last, unfinished year at Hogwarts. There were bins full of trick wands; Self-Inking, Spell-Checking, and Smart-Answer quills. There were other various items such as an animated, reusable hangman, and Patented Daydream Charms.

"You know," said Hermione, looking up at Harry, "that really is extraordinary magic!"

"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free," said a beaming Fred. Everyone greeted each other enthusiastically and the twins began to tour them around the shop.

Then George explained how they developed a more serious line for defense and other useful functions including things like clothing embedded with shielding charms, Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and Decoy Detonators. Harry tried to buy the latter item, but the twins insisted that he pay for nothing, seeing as he was the one who provided the money making it possible to establish the shop in the first place. They all looked around, impressed by the workings of the store. Even Mrs. Weasley seemed to enjoy it.

Then, momentarily, Harry had a sudden, unimpeded view out of the window. "Hey, come check this out," he said to Ron and Hermione. Draco Malfoy was hurrying up the street alone, glancing over his shoulder every so often. He moved beyond the scope of the window and Harry lost sight of him.

"Wonder where his mummy is," said Harry, frowning.

"Given her the slip by the looks of it. It looked like he was headed in the direction of Knockturn Alley. Surprise," said Ron.

"Why, though?" said Hermione pensively.

Harry said nothing; he was mulling it all over in his head. Narcissa Malfoy would not have let her precious son out of her sight willingly; Malfoy must have made a real effort to free himself from her clutches. Harry, knowing and loathing Malfoy, was sure the reason could not be innocent.

He glanced around. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were bending over the Pygmy Puffs. Mr. Weasley was delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards. Fred and George were both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid was standing with his back to them, looking up and down the street.

"Get under here, quick," said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.

"Oh — I don't know, Harry," said Hermione, looking uncertainly toward Mrs. Weasley.

"Come on!" said Ron.

She hesitated for a second longer, then said, "Oh, Harry, you know we can't all possibly fit in there comfortably anymore. It'll be faster if one or two of you go. And one of us should keep a look-out."

She didn't want to go back to Knockturn Alley, and she certainly didn't want to be on the tail of someone who expressly told her he didn't want to see her in there ever again. And as loath as she was to let Harry go in there by himself, he would be safe in his cloak.

Harry seemed to consider what she was saying. "She's right, you guys keep a look out; I'll be right back."

"But —" started Ron.

"Sorry, I've got to hurry if I want to catch up with him. See you guys soon."

Ron looked disappointed, but they looked out and made sure to give Harry an alibi if anyone asked.

Harry ran to catch up with Malfoy, and then once he got close, he snuck as quietly as he could to follow his archrival. It looked like he was headed for Borgin and Burkes, the store Harry had accidentally ended up during his first time using the Floo. _Wonder what he wants in there_, Harry thought. From what he remembered, every artifact in that store was dark and dangerous. He slipped in the door after Malfoy, a feat he could not have accomplished had all three, or even two of them been present. _Smart thinking, Hermione_, he thought.

He realized he was getting distracted and stood by the door so he would be ready to accompany Malfoy out the door without detection.

"The cabinet, you know how to fix it," Malfoy was saying.

_Cabinet? What cabinet?_

"Possibly," said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't," said Malfoy. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

Harry saw Borgin lick his lips nervously. "Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No?" said Malfoy with a sneer. "Perhaps this will make you more confident." He moved toward Borgin, but Malfoy's back was to him and he couldn't see anything. Just as he went for a closer look, Malfoy had accomplished what he needed evidently. All he could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.

"Tell anyone," warned Malfoy, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback, he's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

"There will be no need for —"

"I'll decide that," Malfoy interrupted briskly. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it." He was pointing into the direction of the items to the left. Harry thought it looked like he was referring to the hand for thieves that Malfoy was so intrigued with the last time Harry had seen him visit the store. Or maybe it was the necklace? He couldn't be sure. _What would he need that for_, Harry thought?

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street. Just don't sell it."

"Of course not… sir." Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing again.

Harry hurried to follow Malfoy out of the shop and then made his way back the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Once there and in the backroom with Ron and Hermione, he whipped off the invisibility cloak.

After telling them his account of the events, he said, "What do you think?"

"I don't know, Harry. It seems fishy, but nothing too out of the ordinary for Malfoy," said Hermione.

"Yeah, mate. The guy's just a bloody git. Probably just trying to scare the guy into getting whatever it was he wanted," added Ron.

Harry, however, thought it was something much more. Something wasn't right about the whole situation, he was missing something. Then it came to him. "At the shop!"

Hermione and Ron jumped at this sudden outburst. "When he kept complaining about being poked," he explained at their curious looks. He had previously thought Malfoy's behavior was odd, but didn't give it much thought as he despised Malfoy and Harry had been a little busy being furious. "She wasn't even sticking him that hard, and it was only his left arm, where the Dark Mark is. Malfoy's a Death Eater."

Ron laughed. "Come on, Harry. He's only sixteen!"

"It doesn't seem likely," agreed Hermione.

"And at Borgin and Burke's he showed him something, but he had his back to me. But he didn't have anything with him. He showed him the Dark Mark by rolling up his left sleeve," Harry continued stubbornly.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look.

Now Harry was getting annoyed, they were acting as if he had gone completely nuts, but he was absolutely convinced he was right.

"That's why the guy was so frightened and took him so seriously. It all fits! He's taken his father's place," Harry asserted, trying to get his friends to see reason.

"I don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join. I mean, what could _he_ possibly do?" countered Ron.

"I know Malfoy's foul, Harry. But do you really think he's capable of being a Death Eater? He doesn't seem the type to go join the ranks of the most feared wizard in the world, he's all talk," agreed Hermione.

"She's got a point. He's a bastard, but I don't think he'd actually have the guts to — you know — kill people and stuff," said Ron.

"Listen, you guys weren't there. I know what I saw," Harry continued adamantly.

"Did you actually see the Dark Mark?"

"No, Hermione, but it's so obvious what it is now."

"But what advantage could that possibly pose for Voldemort?"

Harry thought for a while. What would Voldemort gain from this? How would Voldemort look at this?

"Well, there's nothing to lose. I mean, what threat could a kid be to him? He doesn't care about anyone. But this way, he has another body, another servant he can bend to his will. He loves power. And Malfoy's at Hogwarts. Voldemort's always wanted to take over Hogwarts, but couldn't because of Dumbledore. Maybe he wants Malfoy to spy on Dumbledore."

Hermione looked skeptical. "Harry, why would he do that? He must know Malfoy would have no chance. He ought to know that Dumbledore would catch him."

"Almost no chance. But if he got lucky then that's something for Voldemort. And if not, well, then, who cares? Voldemort certainly won't. If Malfoy gets caught, it won't mean a thing to him."

"It still seems like a long shot, mate."

Harry was struck by another thought. "Maybe he _wants_ Malfoy to fail. Or at least, expects him to."

Ron looked confused. "Why would he —"

"Look," Harry interrupted, "Voldemort must be furious that Lucius let me get away and failed to get the prophecy. Dumbledore always said he treats his followers no better than his enemies. Maybe he knows what this will do to the Malfoy's, maybe he's trying to punish Lucius… And if Malfoy succeeds, well, then either way it's a win-win situation for Voldemort."

"Come on, Harry. Why would he do that?"

"Because it's what he does, Ron! He disciplines anyone who makes a mistake to train them to never want to make a mistake again. He's brutal, he's evil!"

Ron looked to Hermione for help.

"That actually makes more sense," mused Hermione.

"See!" exclaimed Harry, relieved that someone would finally believe him.

"But we still don't know for sure, Harry," said Hermione, clearly trying to abate his over-eagerness. "Maybe we should just keep an eye out for anything unusual from Malfoy at school this year, and if anything suspicious comes up, or anything to indisputably verify this, we can decide what to do then."

Harry realized it was the best he was going to get for now. But in his mind, he made it a personal goal to prove Malfoy guilty.

Harry said goodbye to his friends, and was escorted, once again, by Mr. Weasley to Privet Drive. There, he would pace relentlessly trying to figure out the mystery that was Draco Malfoy.

. *** .

Back at the Burrow, Hermione was doing the same thing, but instead of trying to confirm her conviction of Malfoy's guilt, she was trying to fathom what situation would possibly arise to his being a Death Eater. Maybe yesterday she would have taken Harry's suspicions more seriously, but after today…

If he was a Death Eater, why didn't he just kill her, or even harass her when he had the perfect opportunity? She really didn't think Malfoy, as cold and cruel as he was, was actually capable of murder or torture. Indeed, it seemed like he had _helped_ her today. And then she remembered something. Back from the summer before her fourth year at the Quidditch World Cup. Malfoy had also warned Harry and Ron that she would be in more danger because of her parentage. At the time, she was scared and furious at Malfoy for saying all of the appalling things he had said, but now, looking back she wondered why he had bothered to say anything at all. If he truly hated her, he would have said nothing while the band of Death Eaters made their way towards her and her friends. It was all very mind-boggling to Hermione, which was saying something as it didn't happen to her all too often.

Making no progress on the matter, she decided to drop it for the moment and think on it later. But this was much more easily said than done. She tried hard to fall into that dark void of stupor, but found that a confusing swirl of thoughts concerning Malfoy, Harry, Ron and Voldemort among other things, were running rampant in her head.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 3:

Severus Snape is playing a dangerous game, being a spy. Things get more complicated than ever when he is asked to do something that could be potentially devastating for the side of the Light, but will reveal his secret to Voldemort if he refuses. He is already under suspicion from a fellow Death Eater, making his every move even more precarious. Additionally, he and Dumbledore disagree on how to handle other new information on Voldemort, each taking surprising positions on the matter.

_Severus Snape knew it was a dangerous dance he was performing. One slip-up, one wrong move would spell his sure destruction._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] I didn't feel inclined to include the material of the articles, they aren't really important, and you can find them in the _Half-Blood Prince_ if you so desire. It just felt like too much extraneous information. I anticipated that you would rather that I just get on with the story than write a bunch of articles and pamphlets. I believe they can be found in chapter 3, for your pleasure.

[2] This isn't an actual spell from the books, I just used the Latin word for 'heal' because I felt that 'episkey' was more for mending broken bones. It sounds like a spell though, right?

[3] I totally just made that whole thing up, if you're wondering. Something that's fairly insignificant, but I feel is feasible in the magical world of Harry Potter.

[4] Do they even have patents in the Wizarding world? I'm going to assume that, yes, they do — or at least something similar. I'm sure people can't just go around copying other people's ideas.

[5] So I have been informed that England uses feet and inches. I assumed that they were on the metric system and uncharacteristically did not do my research. At first, I listed their heights in centimeters. I may be American, but our system of measurement system is completely inane and illogical in my opinion. Everything is arbitrary. I'm an engineer, so SI units are my friend. If you can't tell this is something I'm pretty opinionated about.

[6] I omitted the plot including Florean being kidnapped in the cannon series, as I don't think there's any relevancy to the overall story. Plus, I needed them to get ice cream to waste time. ;)

A/N: Wow. That turned out to be a lot longer than I thought it would be. I was afraid I didn't have enough material to make the chapter sufficiently long, but apparently I was mistaken. My original plan was to have chapters be somewhere between the length of this chapter and chapter one. If I'm adding too many details and extraneous information and you think it's slowing the pace down, please, let me know. If you think it's just fine, you can let me know that, too. As we get into the thick of things, I promise, everything will start to pick up more. Introductory chapters are usually the slowest, because of the necessary setup and everything. But since this is essentially a continuation, you already know much of the exposition; so I expect within the next two chapters, long and detailed descriptions will become increasingly sparse.

I hope it wasn't too confusing since I had three different points of view in this chapter. The majority will be written from Harry's point of view, although Hermione's and perspective and probably Draco's will not be uncommon. I will probably not use Ron, and if I do, very rarely. Sorry to offend any fans, but Ron's perspective simply doesn't seem that interesting to me. I will most likely write from Dumbledore's and most certainly Snape's POV in the future (stick around for the next chapter). I won't skip around a whole lot, as it can make things seem erratic, but sometimes it will be necessary. I personally think it can break the monotony of the story a bit if used correctly.

Also, I made Harry have the idea about Voldemort's true intention in using Malfoy, he knows Voldemort better than the others and I think he is smarter than he seems in the books, he just doesn't usually think before doing things. But once he stops and slows down, I think he is actually okay at figuring things out. It just doesn't come as naturally to him as Hermione. But when he's determined he can decipher clues.

Not much of an excerpt either, but there's really nothing specific that would be good to insert there.

Again, any input would be much appreciated. Thanks for those of you who do take the time to read and/or review! I hope you have found this story to your liking thus far.

Signing off,

fanster


	4. The Foxtrot

Please, _please_, review. I haven't received nearly as many of these as I would like. I know from the traffic stats that at least 250 people have looked at my story. I don't want you to write a review just for the sake of writing a review, but there has to be more constructive criticism out there. Or perhaps some kind words? I admit I am not above being happy with compliments. I hope you have all, at the very least, put this story on alert. But I do wish to get a feel of how many of you are satisfied with the story thus far, how many of you absolutely hate it, etc. I guess I haven't posted a lot of material yet, so maybe the number of reviews will increase as I move along.

DISCLAIMER: Once again, I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. It'd be awesome if Hogwarts really did exist, though. J.K. Rowling might have stated otherwise, but I'd totally think it'd be amazing if I could meet Severus Snape. I'd also love to thoroughly make fun of Ron and verbally abuse Pansy Parkinson. I'd bring Draco down a notch, too. I'd like to believe my insults are much more witty and abrasive than his. I'd marry Lupin (sorry, Tonks — Dumbledore could minister the wedding) and tell off Sirius and Harry as well for seeming to possess no ounce of logic. Maybe I'd stick it to Hermione, because I'm sure when it comes to mathematics, science, and other Muggle knowledge, I'd actually be much smarter than her. Yes! What else? Oh, I would befriend Arthur Weasley. I think he's just too adorable. Anyways, I digress.

As a heads up, we all know Snape is good, unless you haven't read book seven of Harry Potter, in which case, I have no idea why you are reading this. And that'd just be crazy! I knew from early on in the series that he had a thing for Harry's mom. I thought was pretty obvious, but apparently some of my friends and family were quite surprised. Seriously? He hated Harry's dad with a passion, and never seemed to mention Harry's mother, even though he must have known her, being in the same year and all of that. Plus, Slughorn said she was good at potions, too. Coincidence? I think not! Because of this knowledge, I will not be making a mystery out of Snape's allegiance. I will be writing from the perspective that Snape's loyalty is well established for readers. This is a radical departure from the canon book six, _The Half-Blood Prince_. Also, this chapter is a bit shorter, but to be fair, that last chapter was absolutely mammoth! Plus, a lot of the content in this chapter is pretty important. And without further ado I give you… duh, duh, duh: Chapter 3!

* * *

Chapter 3

The Foxtrot

The wind was howling. Fallen leaves rustled and raked along the ground, and trees swayed dangerously, threatening to snap in half. It was dusk. Fog covered much of the rolling hills and the pale moon cast an eerie light upon its surroundings. The dark outline of a tall, thin man could be seen striding swiftly, yet smoothly down the countryside.

Upon closer inspection, the dark man was hooded and cloaked, the heavy fabric obscuring his visage. His distortedly lengthened shadow moved along as silently as its owner. The lone figure reached an abandoned looking house, and slipped inside.

Lowering his hood, a pale face with piercing black eyes, surrounded by a curtain of dark hair was now visible.

Severus Snape was no ordinary man. Students knew him as a formidable and callous tyrant. Colleagues knew him to be a reserved and solitary, if not abrasive man; yet resourceful, independent and intelligent. One man, a particularly elderly man, knew also of his astonishing bravery and fortitude, and unwavering loyalty. He was also a spy, a double agent; a spy who could keep others from invading his mind, even the most adept at this skill. What most everyone also did not know, was that Severus hid dark secrets, hidden deep within the recesses of his being.

Severus Snape knew it was a dangerous dance he was performing. One slip-up, one wrong move would spell his sure destruction. More than that, it would endanger what had become his sole mission in life: the permanent defeat of the Dark Lord must finally be achieved. He had yearned for it for so long. Ever since that dreaded day… But he must not think about that now. He had to be careful. He cleared his mind of all thought which came to him almost as naturally as breathing, having done it countless times before.

Walking down the dismal halls, and donning a mask, he reached the room of the meeting place. Indeed, upon entering the dimly lit room, there sitting in a high-backed armchair in the center of the back of the room was the most feared man in all of the Wizarding world. Figures bearing the same guise as Severus himself formed a sort of semi-circle around the man, so as to clearly show who was in command. Severus also knew that this was a device to ensure that the Dark Lord could maintain direct eye contact with all who gathered there, allowing him to probe the minds of his servants. Many of the organization Severus had joined what seemed like so many long years ago were already assembled there. He took his rightful place among the ranks. Voldemort had just successfully freed a number of his followers imprisoned in Azkaban. It was hardly a taxing mission as the Dementors were only too happy to oblige the Dark Lord's every whim in exchange for souls to feed upon. Consequently, the group gathered at this meeting swelled in number. A few others came soon thereafter and the meeting commenced.

"Welcome, my friends," greeted Voldemort in his cold, high voice. If Severus could think freely, he would have thought this statement to be quite scoff-worthy, as he doubted very much that the Dark Lord had ever had friends or ever felt such emotions as affection. Even now, the closest thing to it would have to be his pet snake, Nagini. "And to those who have returned, we are especially glad of your presence for now, we are stronger than ever. We meet once again and I come bearing joyous news." (Another sensation Severus also would have thought wholly foreign to the Dark Lord).

"You all know of know of my ambition to rid the world of one Harry Potter. Unfortunately, I have been thwarted by sheer luck on Potter's part and that meddlesome fool Albus Dumbledore, but no more." He paused dramatically. "Some of you may have heard that his mother's sacrifice protected the boy. Old magic, I should have foreseen it. So, in my ingenuity I returned to my body using the boy's blood. I can now touch him." They, of course, had all heard this many times before but were expected to act as if enthralled, although some may actually be genuine in their manifestations; indeed it seemed as though it was taking all of the discipline Bellatrix possessed not to burst aloud in frenzied exaltation.

"At the time, I was not free to explore the possibilities of this new power," Voldemort continued, "but now, now that I am in the open, I can operate without reservation. One of the first things I will do with this new freedom is to test the limitations of my new connection with the famous Harry Potter," he said, spitting out the last three words menacingly as if in disgust. Severus knew where this was going. Apparently, so did the others. Many of the Death Eaters were now waiting with bated breath in anticipation. This, unlike the introduction preceding this statement, was a new development. _Not good_, Severus didn't think.

"We're going to plan a nice surprise for our little friend." Now the Death Eaters were tittering wickedly.

Voldemort continued to describe yet another plot to undo Harry Potter, detailing the responsibilities of each Death Eater that would be involved. Surprisingly, this was a bold move by Voldemort, many of the Death Eaters were now enlivened with the Dark Lord's newest plan. Severus assumed a look of grim satisfaction. Spy or not, everyone knew him to him to be a stoic man of little outward emotion. No one would question his seeming appearance of relevant apathy.

Laying the basic outline of their objective, and once again reiterating Lord Voldemort's greatness and Harry Potter's ordinariness, the meeting was finally adjourned. When Severus made to leave, however, a hissing voice held him back, "No, you wait, Severus." Severus complied.

Belllatrix, who upon exiting the door heard this, turned to glare at Snape.

"Go on, Bella," said Voldemort, "Everything is fine here," he assured her, appearing bored with her behavior.

"Yes, my Lord?" Severus inquired once she left.

"I require a favor of you."

"Of course, my Lord."

"First, Severus, you must know that what I am about to tell you I have told only two others. You should consider yourself very privileged indeed. But I am in need of a skilled potions master of your caliber."

"I am deeply honored, my Lord."

Voldemort continued as if nothing had been said, "I do not think it necessary for me to enlighten you as to what will happen if you should fail." A long and tense silence followed, leaving his unspoken threat to hang in the air. "Or," he finally continued, "if this information should happen fall into the wrong ears."

"You needn't worry, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort gave him a look that clearly communicated that he had better not.

"As you know, my immortality has been a priority about which I care immensely. I have made previously undiscovered breakthroughs and immeasurable progress that others can only dream of. But there remain limitations still, limitations I have strived to eradicate. And through my cunning and relentless pursuit, I believe I have finally discovered secrets that will unlock most wondrous possibilities, allowing me to fortify my grasp on immortality. Of course, I will not divulge the whole extent of my knowledge."

"Of course. That is most sensible, my Lord. You would be foolish to do otherwise," agreed Severus.

"There is something you must do for me; I will give you the instructions for the potion I require. I understand it will be very complex, but I can be patient if I must. However, you would do well not to take any advantage of my benevolence on this matter. I believe there are a few missing pieces, nevertheless, I trust that your superior expertise in potions-making will overcome this slight complication." An objective listener may have taken this to be a compliment; however, they would be wrong. It was a veiled threat, warning his followers that failure to complete expectations was simply unacceptable. "For now, I will give you the list of ingredients; once you procure those I will give you the instructions. I will provide whatever details you deem necessary to concoct the potion. Do not dare try to abuse this power, I shall know."

"But of course, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord."

"Very well, then. Until our next meeting."

Severus bowed at the Dark Lord's feet and made once again to leave.

"Oh, and Severus," the voice held him back once more, "when you determine the date and time, you know how to contact me." In the meeting, it was determined that he was to set these conditions of the Dark Lord's strategy. Severus gave a curt nod and finally departed.

Walking down the halls and turning out a doorway he met none other than Bellatrix Lestrange in a dark recess of the hallway. Severus put on a look of mild annoyance. "I hope you aren't lingering in hopes of regaining the Dark Lord's favor," he drawled.

Bellatrix huffed in indignation. "I don't know what you're talking about, Snape, but know this: I will be watching your every move. Everyone else may trust you, but _I_ don't. Soon they'll all see," she went on almost frantically, "I'll prove everyone wrong, I will. And you will meet your, shall we say… unsavory end."

"Most intriguing. Are you quite sure this has nothing to do with the fact that someone may have finally supplanted you as the most valuable asset to the Dark Lord?" he remarked snidely. "Or could it be that I have actually hoodwinked the most powerful Legilimens of all time, but failed to deceive the all-knowing Bellatrix Lestrange?" he mocked sardonically. "Is this a sentiment you have shared with the Dark Lord?" Bellatrix said nothing, but looked murderous. "Hmm, I thought not," he hummed superiorly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going. Unlike you, I have more important things to be doing than sulking around in empty hallways."

With that he left, leaving a flustered Bellatrix behind.

Sufficiently hidden from view among the trees, Severus removed his Death Eater's mask and Apparated back to the front gates of Hogwarts. He walked briskly along the path to lead him to the main doors. Once inside the castle, he headed directly to the Headmaster's office. It was strange to be here during the summer holidays, as there were no students milling about and all was quiet and empty aside from the occasional ghost wandering about the halls. _Too bad it can't last_, thought Severus. There were two students in particular that occupied his thoughts, and for very different reasons. He remembered that fateful night when Narcissa Malfoy, accompanied (most unfortunately) by her repugnant sister, Bellatrix, arrived at his doorstep, defeated and broken. She pleaded with him — reminding him uncomfortably of Death Eaters who would often beg the Dark Lord's forgiveness when a mistake was made — to save her son. He knew this was coming of course, and had many a quarrel with Dumbledore on the matter. In the end, they both agreed to do what was best for Draco, he was only a boy after all. Severus wanted to do all he could to avert the young Malfoy from committing the same mistakes he had made earlier in his life, but he could not do so without arousing suspicion. Severus knew why the Dark Lord had selected Draco to enter the ranks of the Death Eaters. Severus may not be very fond of the boy (don't let him fool you, his favoritism towards the Malfoy boy and his cronies was all a part of the act he had to play), but he would never wish such a fate on him. He may be nothing more than a glorified bully, but he wasn't evil. And most of the boy's less than desirable qualities were due to his upbringing, and the people who surrounded him at school were obviously not likely to expand his perspective system of beliefs. In any case, the Potions' Master wanted to look out for the Malfoy boy. Severus wasn't blind, as was Draco's deluded aunt who professed it to be an 'honor'. It was not an honor, but retribution in order to punish Lucius for his error, as Bellatrix's more astute sister came to realize. Severus had no choice but to accept Narcissa's proposal. If he did not, his loyalties would become immediately suspect, especially with Bellatrix in audience.

However, this decision came with a heavy price. Albus had asked a lot of Severus, but this, this just might be too much:

_"So poor Draco has been made a Death Eater, and his first mission is to murder me?"_

_Dumbledore stood by his office window, having just received news from Severus of Voldemort's latest plot. "What an ambitious task for one so young."_

_"What are you going to do?" asked Snape._

_"Am I right in thinking that you are the successor to the mission should Draco fail?"_

_"I believe that is the Dark Lord's plan, yes," replied Snape. He waited for Dumbledore to elaborate further, but all Dumbledore seemed to do was consider his options. After a long silence, Severus could no longer hold his questions. "Surely, you aren't going to let him succeed?" he asked incredulously._

_"No, no. Certainly not. No, _you_ must do that."_

_There was a longer silence still, broken only by the clicking beak of Fawkes._

_"Would you like me to do it now?" asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. "Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?"_

_"Oh, not quite yet," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I daresay the moment will present itself in due course." He paused once more, reflecting sadly upon the situation. __"Draco is not as cruel as he can sometimes be. We cannot do this to him. It would destroy him."_

"_And what about me?" Severus could no longer contain his fury, which was saying a great deal considering he was a man who was exemplary at mastering his emotions. But the one emotion he was most prone to exhibiting was his anger. His students would agree with this, although he was rarely truly angry, maybe irritated, but hardly as livid as he indicated. This was mostly a device to discourage students from pestering him. If there was one thing Severus and learned from the Dark Lord, it was that fear could be a powerful tool. Furthermore, he didn't need their loyalty, he just wanted them to leave him alone and do as he said. He also felt no inclination to spare the senseless adolescents the castigation. He was also accustomed enough to Dumbledore to sometimes show exactly how he felt. This was one of those times._

"_Do you know what it is you are asking of me?"_

"_Severus —"_

"_I'm already tainted so it won't affect me at all? Is that what this is?"_

"_Of course not, Severus, but —"_

"_But what! I —"_

"_Severus, please!" Dumbledore urged. "You know as well as I that this could destroy what good is left in Draco and, I fear, cause irreparable damage to his soul. He may not be able to return to the Light as you did. I, of course, realize the immense pressure this would put on you, but you are strong, Severus. You —"_

"_Don't. I know what you are trying to do, you manipulative bastard," Severus retorted._

_Dumbledore did not so much as blink in response to this new moniker. "Severus, don't think of this as an act of murder, but the request of an old man."_

_Severus snorted. "I'm sure that will be an adequate alibi."_

"_You must," urged Dumbledore, "if you don't, Narcissa will suspect you. I expect she'll be requesting it of you soon. The likelihood that she will invoke the Unbreakable Vow —"_

"_I can avoid her if I must."_

"_Severus —"_

"_What if I don't? What if I refuse to perform the Vow?"_

"_Then Voldemort will discover your secret and you will be killed."_

_Severus stood his ground giving the older man a look that clearly said, 'And?'_

"_No, I will not allow that to happen," said Albus, his tone firm. Severus scoffed. As if he had any say in what he could or could not do! "And you know that in order for us to defeat Voldemort, we must have someone on the inside. If you are gone, who will then be that source of information?"_

_Severus knew what Albus was trying to do. He was trying to appeal to Severus' logic-centered mind. But really he knew that the older man was too Gryffindoric for his own good and was now employing Slytherin tactics to achieve his gold-hearted aspirations. The audacity!_

"_I refuse to believe that I am more important than you in the Dark Lord's downfall."_

"_Then you presume much," countered Albus sharply, beginning to become agitated._

"_Why? Why do you believe my life is worth more than yours?" he demanded._

"_It is quite simple. You are indispensable, and I am not."_

_Severus opened his mouth to argue, but this time, it was Albus cutting him off. "A spy is needed to win this war; and if you die, we cannot simply find another. If I am gone, the Order of Phoenix will still have a leader. __And you must be here. If Voldemort holds sway over the school, you must remain here to protect the students in any way you can. He will no longer need a spy, but you will presumably be allowed to continue teaching.__"_

"_But _you_ are the greatest wizard of our time! And you are the only one he fears. Not to mention the emotional defeat the public will undoubtedly experience. How can they possibly find hope if you are killed?"_

"_I never believed that any one wizard, no matter how great, could outweigh the resolve of the people as a whole. They will find their hope in Harry."_

_Ah, yes. Their biggest disagreement. "Yes, a teenage boy will reign as our savior; who needs Albus Dumbledore?" he mocked sarcastically._

"_Severus." Those usually twinkling blue eyes were hardened in warning._

"_How can you possibly hope that this boy will be the key to our salvation?"_

_Dumbledore remained stoically silent. Clearly, he was not going to entertain him once more on this matter. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He never understood this. The boy was nothing short of ordinary. But he trusted Albus. He had to. For if he could not trust Albus Dumbledore, all was surely lost. But sometimes, and now increasingly more than sometimes, doubt began to creep its way into his mind. Maybe Dumbledore was becoming senile after all, he would sometimes think to himself. Especially where it concerned Potter. Was there something that Albus knew that he didn't? He seemed so certain. Or was the old man blinded by his affection (what warranted this, Severus had no idea) for the boy._

"_Things will soon change. Soon, I will not be the only one he fears," Albus said more quietly._

"_How can you be so sure?"_

"_It is inevitable."_

"_That's it? That's your grand explanation?" he exclaimed in disbelief. "No, that's not what this is about, Albus. And you and I both know it!"_

"_Then what is this about?" the old wizard inquired mildly. Severus could hardly believe it. They were not simply talking about the weather! "Why do you insist it is imperative that you be the one to sacrifice yourself, Albus? Do you want to die?"_

_Silence._

_The incredulity must have shown on his face for Albus said, "No, it is not that I wish to die. I am an old man, but you are —"_

"_Don't," commanded Severus in his dangerous tone, "Don't pull that on me, Albus. It won't work."_

"_I will _not_ let you sacrifice yourself for me, Severus," Albus declared, immovable. "And we must think of Draco, he —"_

"_We knew there might come a time when I was discovered. I could discontinue my position as a double agent and find other ways to gather information. I wouldn't have to 'sacrifice myself', as you say."_

"_You and I both know that would not end well as skilled as you are at espionage. And I know you well enough to know that you would never willingly become a passive observer." _

"_There must be another way, Albus."_

"_You must prepare yourself for this possibility."_

"_Maybe I don't want to do it anymore! Maybe I will just not do as you please this time. Maybe I've finally had enough!"_

"_Severus —"_

"_Maybe you ask too much this time," he said in a dangerously low voice._

"_I know I have asked terribly much of you, Severus, but this is my one last great request."_

_Severus said nothing._

"_You will, of course, understand if this is to occur, the Order will no longer trust you," Dumbledore continued as if Severus had agreed to this, "but Voldemort will trust you completely. He will protect you —"_

"— _until I am of no more use to him."_

"_You will be Headmaster of this school, his connection to Hogwarts. He will do no such thing. In the event that you should ever become obsolete in his eyes, you must go into hiding, you can —"_

"_No. I will not hide."_

"_Severus, please, I would have you safe," Dumbledore pleaded._

"_But you would also have me be your killer! I am not afraid of death; in fact, when the time comes I may even welcome it." At this, Dumbledore took on a look of extreme sorrow. "But I will not hide. I do not wish to die a coward, at least give me that. At least let me retain what dignity I have left. I may not be the noblest man alive, but I have no desire to be your murderer, Albus."_

_The man Severus never thought of as old suddenly looked every year his age and then some. His face was lined with worry and grief and his now somber eyes were full of worldly wisdom. "My dear boy. Believe me when I say that the last thing I want to do is place even more burden upon your shoulders. But this is the only way that we can spare Draco from such a horrific experience. He believes he and his family will die at the hands of the most feared wizard alive if he does not succeed. He is not a killer. Neither are you, Severus. However this will not be a malicious act of violence, but one of sacrifice. You will be saving Draco from a terrible fate. I cannot fight young Draco. His defeat would ensure his death along with his family's. I cannot do that to him. It is my job to protect my students, even if they are affiliated with radical organizations. This was not his choice, even if he pretends to believe otherwise. If Draco succeeds in his mission, he will not have the knowledge that what he has committed is anything other than wanton murder."_

_Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course, this all made sense to him. Logically, he should be able to accept that this was the best course of action. Then why did he feel so damn upset about it? He knew, of course, exactly why he was upset._

"_I know," he finally said. "But I would have thought that the brilliant Albus Dumbledore could discover a way in which to circumvent this situation."_

"_Unfortunately not, my boy. Let us hope it will not come to this," was Dumbledore's solemn response._

"_I will do as you ask, if and when the time comes. But I do not know if I can ever forgive you for this," Severus stated plainly._

_There was sadness in the old man's eyes, and yet although Severus knew this was the best option available to them, he could not help but feel a sliver of resentment towards the man he often considered a sagacious, if not officious, mentor._

"_I do not expect nor demand it of you, I deserve no less. I can only hope that you will one day find it in your heart to forgive me, much as I am unworthy of it. But for now, I will just say 'thank you', Severus. I am forever in your debt."_

"_Which you won't be able to repay if you're not…"_

_The Headmaster gave him a humorless smile. "Well, we'll see when the time comes, if it does indeed come."_

_Severus stood up to leave. Albus rose as well. "I know I do not say this enough, although I know you may not especially welcome praise, but I am so very proud of you, Severus. You are a much better man than I. And you underestimate yourself. You are much more 'noble' than you think."_

_Snape didn't know what to say. His first reaction was that Albus was only saying all of this to mollify Severus' anxieties and cajole him into forgiving Dumbledore, but Severus had had more than enough experience as a spy to know that the old wizard was being sincere. He had no idea how Albus could say those things about him, when he had done terrible things in his past. And Albus seemed to be the embodiment of goodness. He was deeply touched, even if he couldn't tell at the moment, as he was more occupied with being angry with the man. But he wasn't used to such praise. On the occasions when Dumbledore had lauded him abundantly, he found himself becoming more awkward than usual. Now was no exception. Dumbledore in his perceptivity seemed to understand this, for he said, "That is all, Severus. You may leave."_

Severus had thought back to this conversation many times since. But the student he was going to discuss with Dumbledore now was a different story entirely.

He had arrived at the ugly gargoyle and gave it the absurdly ludicrous password 'fizzing whizbee'. Impatient to relate the latest news, Severus ascended the escalating spiral staircase. "Enter", a voice said upon knocking the door. "Please sit," said Dumbledore as Snape shut the door behind him.

"Sherbet lemon?" the old man proffered a bowl. Severus returned a scowl in answer. Honestly, after all of the times he had declined to eat the candies, he'd thought that Dumbledore would quit offering him some. The headmaster shrugged, popped one of the candies into his own mouth and set the bowl aside. "Now, Severus, what news?" he asked.

Severus told Dumbledore of Voldemort's latest, ignoble plan. Once finished, Albus just sat in silence, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Severus abruptly glanced at Dumbledore, "You mean not to tell him."

Dumbledore sighed and said, "You know as well as I that any information given to Harry is accessible to Lord Voldemort."

"Do you not think he has a right to know what will be happening? What you plan to do?" Snape asked, disbelief coloring his face.

"I have a hard time believing that you actually care for what Harry does or does not deserve. You have never been inclined to do so it seems, at any rate. In fact, I would even go as far as conjecturing that you go out of your way to be less than accommodating towards Harry." Dumbledore sighed again, "I really do wish you would set aside this grudge of yours, Severus. It is not even Harry's to settle. He is not his father, who matured to become a very good and honorable man, I might add." Severus snorted. "Harry is much more his mother's son," Severus stiffened at this. "He is a remarkable boy. I rather think you two could learn a tremendous amount from each other if you allowed yourselves to reach a point of reconciliation."

"I have no desire to treat with the boy, Albus. I only wish to guarantee his safety, which I'd rather was not a lost cause."

"It will not be. Everything will be fine, Severus."

"Are you certain, Albus?"

The old man passed a tired hand over his face. "In this life, nothing is certain. But I believe this is for the best."

"And you will explain this all to him?" Severus pressed.

"I do not know why you are so persistent on this matter," responded Dumbledore.

"I just don't think you should make decisions for someone and leave them in the dark only to be blindsided. _He_ may not appreciate it," Snape said with underlying venom.

Dumbledore paused for a moment and looked at Severus with his penetrating gaze. "We aren't talking about Harry anymore, are we, Severus?"

Severus chose to ignore this. "There is another matter to discuss, which I believe to be of utmost importance."

"Severus, I just wa—"

"It is another of the Dark Lord's plots to further his hold on immortality. One that I am to assist him in," Snape continued.

Dumbledore gave him a look that clearly indicated he still wanted to talk about any problems they had between them, but knew not to push Severus so nodded to signal for him to continue.

"The Dark Lord has obtained a very old potions formula, and looking at the ingredients, I would say it has something to do with more blood magic."

"Undoubtedly full of dark magic, as well," Dumbledore mused.

"But of course," replied Severus. "I am not quite sure what this potion will do exactly, but it is one of the most complex potions I have ever seen. He gave me a list of ingredients," he said as he handed the list to Albus. "Once I have procured those, he will give me the instructions to concoct the potion. He has given me no timeline. In return," Severus continued, "I will be permitted to seek information as needed concerning the procedure and completion of the concoction."

At this, Dumbledore look up sharply. "You should fulfill this request as soon as possible, Severus. You will have to complete it in any case. We might as well do it quickly and in a fashion that will minimize the risk it poses to you. Voldemort may be pleased with your speed and place you into his better graces, so to speak, so as to glean as much information as we dare seek."

"I had the same idea."

"Very well." Albus looked over the ingredients list once more. "Yes, this almost certainly has something to do with blood magic. I'd be astounded if it wasn't. Maybe… Yes, possibly that as well…" now murmuring to himself.

Severus raised his eyebrows as Albus glanced up. "No matter," said Dumbledore as if they had both come to the same conclusion. "Severus, do what you must do," he said, handing back the list, "and inform me once you have managed to acquire the ingredients Voldemort so desires."

"Yes, Headmaster." Severus turned to leave.

"Severus?"

Snape turned around to face the Headmaster once again. "Is there anything else you wished to discuss?"

Looking into those penetrating, brilliantly bright blue eyes he said, "No, Albus. I shall see you tomorrow."

"Alright then. Until tomorrow," Albus conceded.

Severus descended the stairs that led to his quarters. Sweeping past his classroom, he thought with distaste how school would be starting up again soon. Anyone who had known him in long years past would never have predicted him to become a teacher. He actually didn't mind the concept of teaching a class itself, contrary to popular belief. But this was hampered by the fact that the supposed pupils he was obligated to teach were just about as intelligible as the grime on the dungeon walls.

There was one student in particular he wasn't looking forward to meeting once again. The very same student he made it his life's mission to protect. It seemed odd, very odd indeed that this misanthropic man would strive so tirelessly to help what was in his mind, a cheeky adolescent he despised so. But he harbored suppressed thoughts and feelings and a mysterious past that led to this situation. His reason was ludicrously simple and rather prosaic, but was nevertheless authentic and proved to be unwaveringly sustaining for Severus. Likewise, his singular goal was also strikingly simple.

He never contemplated what he would do after his mission was completed, after the war. What he had confided in Dumbledore was the truth. Severus did not expect to survive the war. So what use was there in planning beyond what may never be a possibility? And if he truly searched his feelings, he would understand that he would be quite nervous of the answer. For what would he do after the war, when the one thing he was trying to accomplish was finally over? What would he have to look forward to? Being a spy was not especially enjoyable, but it gave him purpose, gave him a feeling of fulfillment. Whether or not he lived was completely irrelevant. As long as he achieved what he set out to do, if death was the price to pay, well, then that was fine with Severus.

He went into the washroom in his quarters to wash his hands, something he felt prompted to do after meetings with the Dark Lord and his cronies. He looked up into the mirror above the hand basin. He knew he was never particularly attractive; nevertheless, he was slightly disturbed to see how old he looked. He looked at least ten years older than he really was. He was technically still a young man, but he didn't feel like it. He felt even older than he looked. His forehead was decorated with permanent lines of worry. From his temple, he could see strands of grey starting to emerge. His pallid skin made him look almost sickly. He sighed. He couldn't even remember the last time he felt young and carefree. Well, he could, but such thoughts only brought about more pain. And even then, he had had his troubles. At least with Voldemort, all you felt was the physical pain. But looking back on his days of so-called innocence, it was like looking through a glass ceiling, or as if in a dream. There, but unattainable. Because the feeling was too unfamiliar, beyond all recall. If he tried to truly remember, it was like grasping at smoke. Vague shapes disappearing into nothingness until he could remember no more.

Deciding to attempt to put an end to these melancholy thoughts he moved away from the mirror and instead entered the living area. He walked over to the cabinets and grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey. Just a couple of glasses to numb his thoughts, he reasoned. He started to open the bottle, but then paused, and set it back down. He did not want to make this a habitual routine, like his father. If he drank every time he was feeling strained, he would be a bona fide alcoholic. He instead went about making himself a cup of coffee, another mannerism he had learned from his despised father — although this custom wasn't as unhealthy and Severus didn't do it often. Unlike the majority of people, he took his without caffeine, as he knew it could be an addictive drug.

He sat in silence. Varying thoughts swirled in his mind: how would things go tomorrow, what Voldemort was planning, if, in the end, he would have to slay the only man who truly trusted him, the only person who had an inkling of who he was. Severus was a man who preferred to keep to himself, to be alone. But at times like these, whether he was aware of it or not, he wished it were not so. He pondered this and many other thoughts; they drifted into the night in silence, never to be heard.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 4:

Dumbledore arrives to retrieve Harry at Privet Drive, and a tense confrontation ensues after which Harry accompanies him on a most peculiar quest. Our protagonist also finds out more about the current status of his connection to Voldemort. More unknown individuals are introduced to Harry, and disaster strikes while on his outing with Dumbledore.

"_No," Harry said resolutely. "If you think it will put somebody in danger, especially someone in the Order, I don't need to know."_

"_You will know soon enough, Harry. I only hope you will be able to forgive me," said Dumbledore, his eyes almost pleading._

_Harry stared at him. What could he possibly know that would cause Harry to become so at odds with the man? Maybe it was best he didn't know. Harry wasn't going to be selfish and place another's life in danger. "I trust you, sir. I'm sure everything will be fine."_

* * *

A/N: (Hey, no footnotes in this chapter!) I know, I know. It's not clear what the big 'plan' of Voldemort's is, but that's kind of the point. I want it to come as a surprise to you, too! But some of you may be able to guess what it is. I thought it'd be fun to add an element of unknown occurrences and a bit of a different perspective. Usually the audience knows much more than the characters, but hopefully you'll feel that me taking the liberty of keeping you in the dark as well for a short time is a spectacular idea in hindsight. (Although I realize that right now, some of you may hate me ).

There is other information during the actual (non-flashback) conversation between Snape and Dumbledore, which you will be filled in on later. Sorry for any confusion, but I felt it was necessary. I want readers to have some surprises! And you won't have to wait terribly long for this one to be revealed, either. It was cut out where the ellipsis occurs. And that's all I have to say about that (Can you name that movie?).

I also hope you don't think Snape is completely out of character. Particularly in the flashback. But in the books he and Dumbledore fought about it, so I felt it wasn't out of question. Although he knows it would be a terrible thing for Draco, I would think that in the back of his head he would feel somewhat slighted by the seeming oversight of the effects it would have on him as well. His history/experience with murder or lack thereof could be a sensitive subject for Severus, much as we would believe (and he believes) he contains no fragile elements to his psyche.

Looking back on this, the conclusion of this chapter is rather depressing. Maybe a little melodramatic, but I think some of that can be allowed, don't you? If you don't, then leave a review and let me know what you think! If you loved it and found absolutely nothing wrong, then you can write a review anyways and make me feel good about myself. ;)

Signing off,

fanster


	5. Disaster Strikes

A special shout out to **alix33**, **Lav Black**, **Z11Recon**, and **sodan64**, who have all either PM'd me or reviewed my story. Thank you so much! I really do appreciate it. I hope the rest of you reading this story will follow suit and let me know what you think! It'll really help me gauge what I'm doing right and what I'm doing wrong.

Also, on my profile, I have a poll up. I was just wondering what type of browser most people are using, Internet, Firefox, etc., for formatting purposes. Check it out.

DISCLAIMER: You know the deal. I don't own anything Harry Potter. I just took Rowling's characters and fictitious world and put my own twist on it.

I should also add that much of the dialog involving Harry and Dumbledore's little trip is taken directly from _The Half-Blood Prince_. But I do believe the chapter differs enough to be included, as it has some important points that needed to be presented. I hope you'll forgive me, but much of this will be similar to HBP. Hopefully, you'll still find it a captivating read. Also, I just love the scene of Dumbledore banging wine glasses on the Dursleys' heads, very much enjoying himself. ;)

I also hit a bit of writer's block in this chapter compared to the first three, and it carried over a little into the fifth chapter. I hope you'll excuse me if it seems overly apparent in my writing. But if I only wrote this whenever I felt inspired and able to spurn out pages at a time in my moment of epiphany, this story would not be completed for a very, very long time. Sometimes you just have to slug along and just review and re-edit it redundantly to make sure everything flows well. Or am I totally wrong in that assessment?

* * *

Chapter 4

Disaster Strikes

Back from Diagon Alley, back at Privet Drive Number Four, Harry was thinking hard about what Malfoy could possibly be up to. So far, he had come up with nothing. Ron wasn't taking this seriously and Hermione wasn't convinced enough to delve deeper and solve this puzzle. Well, then Harry would just have to figure it out on his own. He knew it had to be something to do with the Death Eaters, it just had to. Why else would Malfoy have acted the way he did at Madam Malkin's? It was only when she approached his left forearm, precisely where the Dark Mark was always branded. He definitely showed something to Burke — or whatever his name was — at the store; something that was enough to scare him into doing everything Malfoy demanded. And this man frequently dealt with and associated himself with the sort of people who shop at Knockturn Alley.

It had to be something that Voldemort would find valuable, but what? He obviously didn't want Malfoy to kill Harry; he wanted to do that himself. And if that was what he truly wanted, then there was no need to recruit Malfoy; Voldemort would have enlisted Snape to do it. Harry still wasn't certain of Snape's loyalty… but that mystery was for another time. Harry knew Voldemort had an interest in Hogwarts, but what would he want? Harry had once again resumed his relentless pacing. He was astonished he hadn't burned a track in the carpet.

Harry paced around his room trying to piece together all the information that might help buoy his case against Malfoy. He had one more day until Dumbledore would come to pick him up. _And then I can be free of this place until next summer_, he thought.

That night and most of the next day, he tried to solve the mystery surrounding Malfoy, but to no avail. At any rate, he wasn't going to be able to do anything about it right now. He made a mental note to himself to track any suspicious behavior from Malfoy. It was now past dinner time and Harry had only to wait a few more hours before Dumbledore arrived. To pass the time he packed, double-checked and repacked all of his belongings. Once that was done he was still left with a lot of time, as packing didn't take very long.

Frustrated with his lack of progress on the Malfoy issue, he was feeling especially daunted today. He had just learned from a letter from Ron and Hermione that there had been another mass breakout from Azkaban. But it was not publicly announced; it seemed the new Minister of Magic, Scrimgeour, did not want to admit that this breakout had happened under his watch, nor how powerful Voldemort was becoming. _Great_, Harry thought,_ we go from Fudge to this guy_. This was possibly why he had felt Voldemort's emotions earlier, but it didn't feel right to Harry. This was inevitable because he had control of the dementors. The dementors had been banished by Scrimgeour, but they rebelled and wouldn't leave the vicinity immediately upon request. The Aurors tried to fight them out, but it took longer than expected. This breakout had been the dementors' last parting gift.

He looked at the clock, it was 8:31. He sighed, now what should he do? He had exhausted his brain in trying to solve the mystery surrounding Malfoy as well as doing schoolwork. He also felt no desire to chat with his relatives, although Dudley hadn't been too bad as of late. Harry had begun to wonder what brought about this sudden change, but hadn't spared it much thought, and he was all thought-out at the moment. Well, if he couldn't solve the Malfoy puzzle, then maybe he could figure out what was up with Dudley.

He walked to the bathroom as a pretext to sneak a peek into Dudley's room, which was across from his own. The bathroom was next to Dudley's bedroom. Dudley was currently sitting at his desk on his computer. Then, Harry decided to adopt a more bold approach. He went over and stood in the doorway of his cousin's bedroom until he got a response.

When Dudley noticed he looked up appearing utterly perplexed. After a while, when it was clear that Harry wasn't going to initiate conversation, Dudley asked, "Is there something you wanted?"

Harry was flabbergasted in his own right. He was sure that practically intruding Dudley's bedroom would be enough to get his cousin angry enough to drop the strange act he'd been assuming as of late. Frustrated that he was getting nowhere he finally gave up on acting with subtlety and got straight to the point, saying, "Alright, Dudley. What's going on? What is it you think you're playing at?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean. You've been acting strangely lately, and I want to know why, so… spit it out!"

Dudley continued to say nothing and look decidedly anywhere but directly at Harry as if he didn't have any clue his cousin was even there.

Impatient, Harry decided he would force it out of his cousin if he had to. "Come on, Dudley! You've bullied me all our lives, and suddenly it's like we're buddy-buddy watching Star Wars. What's going on? What exactly do you think you're —?"

"Why'd you save me?" Dudley blurted out suddenly.

"What?" Harry was taken aback.

"Last summer, you saved me from those dementoid things. Why?" he asked, finally looking at Harry.

It took Harry a moment to register what was being said. Was _this_ the reason for the sudden change?

"Dudley, the dementors remove your soul," Harry explained, pausing to allow the gravity of these words to sink in. "If they get close enough, if they overcome you, you'll be nothing. You'd live, you'd function; but you wouldn't even be you anymore. You couldn't feel anything. Not happiness, not love, not a single human emotion. That feeling the dementors give you, it'd be like that for the rest of your life, except you wouldn't even care. It'd be hollow and empty. _You_ would be empty. You'd be better off dead." Harry might not like his cousin, but to just stand by and let what he just described to become Dudley's fate would be wrong and maliciously cruel. It was exactly the sort of thing the Death Eaters would do.

"But why did you save _me_?" Dudley repeated.

"Dudley, it's something you would never wish on anyone, something that no one — well, alright, something a couple of people might, but almost nobody — deserves. Anyone who was half-way decent would have saved you," Harry tried to rationalize, if not somewhat impatiently. But Dudley looked skeptical.

"I'm not so sure," he mused. "I would think that most people in your place, especially with how I treated you, wouldn't jump to save me. I'd think that most people just wouldn't care or think that I had it coming to me, that I got as good as I gave. I think most people would think I would've deserved it."

"Well," Harry hesitated, "maybe some people, but I think most would have saved you, too. Maybe you just don't understand, but in the Wizarding world, that's one of the worst things that can happen to you." There was another awkward pause, and when Dudley didn't say anything, Harry pressed him again. "Is that why you've been backing off of me lately, because I drove the dementors away from you?"

Another pause.

Finally, Dudley started talking, "I'm not sure. I think that's definitely part of it. I wanted to ask you yesterday, but I wasn't sure what to say to you, so I just ended up doing what I've always done. It's like, all my life I've been told that you were a bad influence. That being what you are, using magic and stuff, was a really peculiar and terrible thing. When I was younger, I didn't know why it was so bad, but I believed them. As I got older, it was just a habit. It was always that way, so why should I feel any differently? But then — then that happened. I just didn't understand how you could be a worthless piece of junk like Mum and Dad always tell me, but at the same time, save my life. How could all magic be bad if you saved me with it? If you were such a bad person, why would you save me, even when I was always nasty to you, even when I probably wouldn't have done the same thing for you?" The guilt was apparent in his voice.

"You don't know that for sure, Dudley," said Harry, who felt oddly like defending Dudley.

"Yeah, but, I wouldn't have done it like you. It was like it was no big deal for you. Like you wouldn't have even thought of doing anything else," countered Dudley.

"I've already told you, I wouldn't wish that on almost _anyone_. You may have treated me poorly when we were younger, but there are people who have done much worse than you have to me." Dudley raised a disbelieving eyebrow at this. "Trust me, Dudley," said Harry, "there are people that have done things that would make what you did look saintly by comparison," he said truthfully.

"Like what?"

Harry snorted humorlessly, "_That_ would require a really long story. But you can trust me on that one."

"Yeah, but even so, I still don't understand why you helped me when all I did was —"

"Look, Dudley. I'm not even sure exactly why I saved you. I just did. And I know I wouldn't leave someone to live like that, not even you, not even some of those people who are worse to me than you were." And it was true; Harry wouldn't even let that happen to Malfoy. "I guess the simple answer is that it was just the right thing to do," Harry tried to explain.

"But people don't always do the right thing," Dudley pointed out.

Harry didn't have an answer to that.

"Well, thanks, anyways," Dudley murmured so quietly Harry wasn't sure he had heard him at first. But if the look of mild embarrassment on his cousin's face was anything to go by, he was sure he had heard his cousin correctly.

After, yet again, another uncomfortable silence Harry asked, "So, what now?"

"What do you mean?" questioned Dudley.

Harry wasn't exactly sure how to put what he was thinking into words and he asked more to end the awkward silence, but Dudley saved him from having to explain himself, by inquiring, "So are we good?"

Harry thought about it for a second and answered, "Yeah, we're good."

"But why?"

Harry could see that this was becoming his cousin's favorite question today. He gave Dudley a questioning look.

"You're going to forgive me, just like that?"

While Dudley had been cruel to him growing up, he clearly felt remorse for doing so and was obviously grateful for Harry's actions last summer. And Harry knew that Dudley's behavior hadn't been his fault as much as his parents. And though Dudley did not hold back when bullying Harry, as he became older, this too, came to an end. How else could Dudley have reacted? His parents had forced him to believe that Harry deserved to be treated the way he was. And their refusal to say no to their son hadn't done him any favors, either. Harry told Dudley as much, "It's not really your fault. At least most of it isn't. You grew up believing I was some sort of freak because that's what your parents taught you to do. I bet if they didn't do that, we'd be on better terms. I know that most of the blame lies with them. While dealing with you was no walk in the park, it's obvious you've changed your mind about some things, and you act that way, too. I guess since you no longer think I'm scum like your parents, and now that you've realized that they were wrong, there's no sense in me still being angry at you."

Dudley nodded his head. "Maybe we can start over?" he asked.

"That sounds good," answered Harry. He held out his hand, which Dudley shook as if they had reached some sort of agreement.

"I'm sorry," Dudley said quietly, "for all that stuff I did to you when we were younger."

Harry was, if at all possible, even more astounded. He didn't know what to say, so he just nodded his understanding. He turned to leave, but before he could Dudley meekly asked, "Hey, Harry?"

Harry turned around, "Yes?"

"Do you think sometime you could tell about your world? I've always been curious."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise; this was not what he had been expecting. He still had a couple hours until Dumbledore arrived so he simply said, "What do you wanna know?"

It was extremely bizarre and surreal, sitting there talking to Dudley about the Wizarding world, but also surprisingly enjoyable. Harry had never known his previously despised cousin to be a good listener, but during his narration, Dudley's eyes were focused with rapt attention. He spoke of Hogwarts, the castle, its secret passageways and moving staircases. He told of the animated portraits and Peeves the poltergeist, his classes and the decadent meals. He talked about Hogsmeade and butterbeer and the many shops inside the village. And Quidditch. This seemed to intrigue Dudley, and he and his cousin got into an intense yet affable debate regarding what Dudley seemed to think was a lack of necessity for athletic ability and inequality of the positions of the players in the Wizarding sport. Harry avoided any mention of the war and his encounters with Voldemort.

But eventually, Dudley asked about it, which was not entirely unexpected seeing as how Harry had all but exploded about it the other day. He politely declined to speak of it. "Maybe another time," he said. Dudley nodded his consent. "Oh!" Harry hadn't realized how much time that had taken. "It's almost eleven. Dumbledore should be here soon." At the puzzled look on Dudley's face, Harry explained, "He's coming to pick me up. I'm going to help him with something, and then he's going to take me to the Weasley's."

"Have you told my parents?"

Dudley must have guessed the answer from Harry's face for he said, "Oh, boy. That's gonna go over well," stating the obvious. Harry gave him a mildly reproving look for the comment when the doorbell rang. Dudley and Harry glanced at each other and quickly made their way downstairs. "Who in the blazes is calling at this hour of the night?" he could hear his Uncle Vernon shouting. Harry opened the door, Dudley standing just behind him.

"Good evening, Harry," smiled Dumbledore, dressed in his traveling cloak and pointed wizard's hat. Looking over he saw Dudley saying, "Ah, and you must be Harry's cousin, Dudley."

Dudley nodded mutely.

By now, Uncle Vernon had arrived at the door, eyeing Dumbledore with unadulterated shock and horror.

"Judging by your look of stunned disbelief, I assume Harry did _not_ warn you I was arriving," the old wizard said pleasantly. "However, let us suppose that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times." And with that, he stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the door behind him with a snap.

"It has been a long time since my last visit," said Dumbledore, peering graciously down his crooked nose, through his half-moon spectacles. "I must say, your agapanthuses are flourishing."

At the moment, Uncle Vernon said nothing. He seemed to be completely robbed of speech. It might have been the blatant wizardishness of Dumbledore's appearance, but it also might have been that even Vernon could sense that this was not a man who could be intimidated.

"Well, Harry —" Dumbledore started. But Vernon seemed to have regained his speech. "I don't mean to be rude —" he began, threatening rudeness with every syllable.

"— yet, sadly, inadvertent rudeness occurs alarmingly often, I'm afraid," Dumbledore finished the sentence gravely. "Best not to say anything at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia."

The kitchen door had opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, her face conveying nothing but shock.

"Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore, when Uncle Vernon failed to effect an introduction. "We have corresponded, of course." Harry thought that this an odd way of reminding Aunt Petunia that he had once sent her an exploding letter, but Aunt Petunia did not object to this. Dumbledore waited a moment or two, apparently to see whether any of the Dursleys were going to say anything, but as the silence stretched on he smiled and said, "Shall we assume then, that you have invited me into your sitting room?" Harry followed Dumbledore into the living room, where he had settled himself in the armchair nearest the fire and was taking in the surroundings with an expression of benign interest. He looked extraordinarily out of place.

"Aren't — aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first," said Dumbledore. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."

"You will, will you?" Vernon Dursley had entered the room, Petunia at his shoulder. Dudley also entered the room, standing off to the side.

"Yes," said Dumbledore simply, "I shall."

He drew his wand so quickly that Harry barely saw it; with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under his aunt and uncle so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position.

"We may as well be comfortable," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "Please, sit down." Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursleys, who seemed stunned into silence. Dudley, sensing that this would take some time, sat on the sofa next to his parents.

"I would normally assume that you were going to offer me refreshment," Dumbledore said to Uncle Vernon, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness." A third twitch of the wand, and a dusty bottle and five glasses appeared in midair. The bottle tipped and poured a generous measure of honey-colored liquid into each of the glasses, which then floated to each person in the room.

"Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead," said Dumbledore, raising his glass to Harry, who caught hold of his own and sipped. He had never tasted anything like it before, but enjoyed it immensely. Dudley had reached out to his glass, but his mother screeched, "Dudley, don't! You don't know what's in there!" Dudley rolled his eyes at this but did not drink as she requested and held it instead. The other two Dursleys, shared frightened looks, then tried to ignore their proffered beverages, a difficult feat, as the glasses were now nudging them gently on the sides of their heads. Harry could not suppress the suspicion that Dumbledore was rather enjoying himself.

"Well, Harry," said Dumbledore, turning toward him, "a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. You know, of course, that Sirius left everything he owned to you in his will." Over on the sofa, Uncle Vernon's head turned, but Harry did not look at him. He simply nodded in the affirmative. This was _not_ something he wanted to discuss in front of the Dursleys. In fact, this wasn't something he really wanted to talk about at all. "This is, in the main, fairly straightforward," Dumbledore went on. "You add a reasonable amount of gold to your account at Gringotts, and you inherit all of Sirius's personal possessions. The slightly problematic part of the legacy —"

"His godfather's dead?" asked Uncle Vernon loudly, if not insensitively, from the sofa. His eyes had become significantly larger at the mention of gold. Dumbledore and Harry both turned to look at him. The glass of mead was now knocking quite insistently on the side of Vernon's head, which he attempted to beat away. "He's dead, his godfather?"

"Yes," replied Dumbledore. He did not ask Harry why he had not confided in the Dursleys.

"Our problem," he continued to Harry, as if there had been no interruption, "is that Sirius also left you Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

"He's been left a house?" said Uncle Vernon greedily, his small eyes narrowing, but nobody answered him.

"I know. You can keep using it as headquarters," said Harry. "I don't care. You can have it, I don't really want it. You can put it to better use than I ever could." Harry had no desire to again set foot in number twelve, Grimmauld Place if he could help it. He would only be haunted by the memory of Sirius meandering in its dark and depressing confines in solitude, imprisoned within the place he had wanted so desperately to escape.

"That is generous," said Dumbledore. "We have, however, vacated the building for the moment."

"Why? Was there a problem?" asked Harry.

"Well," said Dumbledore, ignoring the mutterings of Uncle Vernon, who was now being rapped vigorously over the head by the persistent glass of mead, "Black family tradition decreed that the house be handed down a direct line to the next male with the name of 'Black.' Sirius was the very last of the line as his older brother, Regulus, predeceased him and both were childless [1]. While his will makes it perfectly plain that he wants you to have the house, it is nevertheless possible that some spell or enchantment has been set upon the dwelling to ensure that it cannot be owned by anyone other than a pureblood." The vivid image of the shrieking, hissing portrait of Sirius's mother that hung in the hall of Grimmauld Place suddenly flashed into Harry's mind. "That wouldn't surprise me at all," he agreed.

"No, it would not be surprising to me, either," said Dumbledore. "And if such an enchantment exists, then the ownership of the house is most likely to pass to the eldest of Sirius's living relatives, which would mean his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange." Without realizing what he was doing, Harry sprang to his feet.

"No," he said.

"Well, obviously we would prefer that she didn't get it either," said Dumbledore calmly. "The situation is fraught with complications. We do not know whether the enchantments we have placed upon it, such as rendering it Unplottable, will hold now that ownership has passed from Sirius's hands. It might be that Bellatrix will arrive on the doorstep at any moment. Naturally we had to move out until such time as we have clarified this dilemma."

"How do we do that?"

"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, "there is a simple test." He placed his empty glass on a small table beside his chair, but before he could do anything else, Uncle Vernon cried, "Will you get these ruddy things off us?"

Harry looked around; Vernon and Petunia were cowering with their arms over their heads as their glasses bounced up and down on their skulls, their contents flying everywhere.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Dumbledore politely, not looking sorry at all, but raised his wand again, making all three glasses vanish. "But it would have been better manners to drink it, you know." It looked as though Uncle Vernon was bursting with any number of colorful retorts regarding exactly where Dumbledore could shove his manners, but he merely shrank back into the cushions with Petunia. Dudley and said nothing and seemed merely curious.

"You see," Dumbledore said, turning back to Harry and again speaking as though Uncle Vernon had never uttered so much as a word, "If you have indeed inherited the house, you have also inherited —" He flicked his wand for a fifth time. There was a loud crack, and a very ugly and miserable looking house-elf covered in grimy rags appeared, crouching on the Dursleys' previously flawlessly cleaned carpet. Aunt Petunia let out a frightening shriek, for nothing this filthy had entered her house in living memory. Dudley looked at the creature with interested, albeit revolted eyes and Uncle Vernon bellowed, "What the hell is that?"

"Kreacher," finished Dumbledore.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, wont —"

"As you can see, Harry," said Dumbledore loudly, over Kreacher's continued moans of 'wont, won't, won't', "Kreacher is showing a certain reluctance to pass into your ownership."

"I don't care," said Harry again, looking with disgust at the writhing, stomping house-elf. "I don't want him."

"— won't, won't, won't, won't —"

"You would prefer him to pass into the ownership of Bellatrix Lestrange? Bearing in mind that he has lived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix for the past year?"

"— won't, won't, won't —"

Harry stared at Dumbledore. He knew that Kreacher could not be permitted to go and live with Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of owning him, of having responsibility for the creature that had betrayed Sirius, was repugnant.

"Give him an order," declared Dumbledore. "If he has passed into your ownership, he will have to obey. If not, then we shall have to think of some other means of keeping him from his rightful mistress."

"— won't, won't, WON'T!" Kreacher's voice had risen to a scream. Harry could think of nothing to say, except, "Kreacher, shut up!" It looked for a moment as though Kreacher was going to choke. He grabbed his throat, his mouth still working furiously, his eyes bulging. After a few seconds of frantic gulping, he threw himself face forward onto the carpet (Aunt Petunia whimpered) and beat the floor with his hands and feet, giving himself over to a violent, but entirely silent, tantrum.

"Well, that simplifies matters significantly," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "It seems that Sirius knew what he was doing. You are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and of Kreacher."

"I — I don't have to keep him with me, do I?" Harry asked, aghast, as Kreacher thrashed around at his feet.

"Not if you don't want to," said Dumbledore. "If I might make a suggestion, you could send him to Hogwarts to work in the kitchen there. That would allow the other house-elves to keep an eye on him."

"Yeah," said Harry in relief, "yeah, I'll do that. Er — Kreacher — I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens there with the other house-elves." Kreacher, who was now lying flat on his back with his arms and legs in the air, gave Harry one upside-down look of deepest loathing and, with another loud crack, vanished.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore. "There is also the matter of the hippogriff, Buckbeak. Hagrid has been looking after him this summer, but Buckbeak is yours now, so if you would prefer to make different arrangements —"

"No," said Harry at once, "he can stay with Hagrid. I think Buckbeak would prefer that."

"Hagrid will be delighted," said Dumbledore, smiling. "He was thrilled to see Buckbeak again [2]. Now, Harry, it is almost time, if you want to get your things."

With his school trunk and Hedwig's cage in hand, he made his way back downstairs, He was disheartened to discover that Dumbledore was not waiting in the hall, which meant that he had to return to the living room.

Nobody was talking. Dumbledore was humming quietly, apparently quite at his ease, but the atmosphere was thick with tension, and Harry did not dare look at the Dursleys as he said, "I'm ready, Professor."

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Just one last thing, then." He turned to speak to the Dursleys once more.

"As you will no doubt be aware, Harry comes of age in a year's time —"

"No," said Aunt Petunia, addressing him for the first time since Dumbledore's arrival.

"I'm sorry?" inquired Dumbledore politely.

"No, he doesn't. He's a month younger than Dudley, and Dudders doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."

"Ah," said Dumbledore pleasantly, "but in the Wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen." Uncle Vernon muttered, "Preposterous," but Dumbledore yet again ignored him. "Now, as you already know, the wizard called Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The Wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare. Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining his parents' murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own." Dumbledore paused, and although his voice remained light and calm and conveyed no obvious sign of anger, Harry felt a kind of chill emanating from him and noticed that the Dursleys drew slightly closer together.

"You did not do as I asked. You have never treated Harry as a son. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you have inflicted upon the unfortunate boy sitting next you." Both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked around instinctively, as though expecting to see someone other than Dudley on the couch. "Although," Dumbledore continued, "it seems that he has at least been able to recognize reason despite your misguidance."

"Us? Mistreat Dudley? What d'you —?" began Uncle Vernon furiously, but Dumbledore raised his ringer for silence, a silence which fell as though he had struck Uncle Vernon dumb.

"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house 'home.' However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen; in other words, at the moment he becomes a man. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time." None of the Dursleys said anything. Dudley was frowning slightly, seeming to reflect upon Dumbledore's words. Uncle Vernon looked as though he had something stuck in his throat; Aunt Petunia, however, was oddly flushed.

"Well, Harry, it is finally time for us to be off," said Dumbledore at last, standing up and straightening his cloak. "Until we meet again," he said to the Dursleys, who looked as though that moment could wait forever as far as they were concerned. Only Dudley looked undaunted. And after doffing his hat, Dumbledore swept from the room.

"Bye," said Harry hastily to the Dursleys — Dudley gave a slight nod of the head — and followed Dumbledore, who paused beside Harry's trunk, upon which Hedwig's cage was perched.

"We do not want to be encumbered by these just now," he said, pulling out his wand again. "However, I would like you to bring your Invisibility Cloak… just in case." Once Harry had extracted his cloak and folded it into his jacket pocket; Dumbledore waved his wand and the trunk and cage shrunk considerably until he could fit it easily inside of his pocket. "Of course, I will return these to their original size once we reach the Burrow." But Harry was more captivated by the spell-work than worried that his belongings would remain miniature-sized forever more. Dumbledore then waved his wand once more, and the front door opened onto cool, misty darkness.

"And now, Harry, let us step out into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."

Starting to walk down the driveway of the Dursleys' Dumbledore said, "I wish you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case, you understand me." Harry nodded.

"And keep your wand at the ready, Harry," he said brightly.

"But I thought I'm not allowed to use magic outside school, sir."

"If there is an attack," said Dumbledore, "I give you permission to use any counterjinx or curse that might occur to you. However, I do not think you need worry about being attacked tonight."

"Why not, sir?"

"You are with me," said Dumbledore simply.

Despite the fact that he had spent the past few days hoping desperately that Dumbledore would indeed come to fetch him, Harry felt distinctly awkward as they set off down Privet Drive together. He had never had a proper conversation or casual encounter with the headmaster outside of Hogwarts before; there was usually a desk between them. Additionally, the memory of their last face-to-face encounter rather heightened Harry's sense of embarrassment; he had shouted a lot on that occasion, not to mention done his best to demolish several of Dumbledore's most prized possessions. And then the letter. The letter Dumbledore had written reassuring Harry and telling him he was proud of him.

Dumbledore, however, seemed completely at ease.

But Harry felt he had to say something before his own unease overwhelmed him. "Sir," he began. Dumbledore stopped and turned to look at him. "I just wanted to thank you for the letter… And I also wanted to apologize for what happened last —"

"There is no need to trouble yourself over that occasion. It is quite alright, Harry. There is nothing to forgive," replied Dumbledore magnanimously.

"But —"

"The way you reacted is quite understandable. I would have been more worried had you not reacted that way. Sirius meant a great deal to you. This, I know." Harry nodded his appreciation and tried to swallow past the lump that seemed to have grown in his throat.

"I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, Harry, but I am pleased and a little proud at how well you seem to be coping after everything that happened at the Ministry." He paused slightly and said, "Permit me to say that I think Sirius would have been proud of you." Harry swallowed again, working his jaw; his voice seemed to have deserted him. Sirius was still a topic that was difficult for him to discuss.

"It was cruel," continued Dumbledore softly, "that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship." Harry nodded, his eyes fixed resolutely on a crack in the sidewalk.

He could tell that Dumbledore understood, and maybe even suspected that Harry had spent nearly all his time at the Dursleys' lying on his bed, refusing meals, and staring at the misted window, full of the chill emptiness that he had come to associate with dementors.

"It's just hard," Harry said finally, in a low voice, "to realize I won't ever see him again, that he'll never write to me again."

His eyes burned suddenly and he blinked. He felt a little foolish for admitting it, but the fact that he had had someone outside Hogwarts who cared what happened to him, almost like a parent, had been one of the best things about discovering his godfather… and now the post owls would never bring him that comfort again…

Dumbledore looked at him sympathetically, as though wishing he could reverse what had happened and prevent Harry's pain; almost as though he also knew from personal experience exactly how Harry felt. Harry suddenly realized how little he really knew about the man beside him, and wondered what could have happened to Dumbledore to give him this understanding.

"Sirius represented much to you that you had never known before," said Dumbledore gently. "Naturally, the loss is devastating…"

"But while I was at the Dursleys'…" Harry said suddenly, his voice growing stronger, "I realized I can't just shut myself away or — or fall apart. Sirius wouldn't have wanted that," he said solemnly. "With the times we're living in, anything can happen. I see in the newspapers, all of those people who have died. It could be anyone next. And if it's me," he said fiercely, now looking straight into Dumbledore's blue eyes gleaming in the wandlight, "I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can, and Voldemort too if I can manage it." He didn't know why, but he felt the need to let Dumbledore know how much he wanted to dismantle the regime responsible for all those deaths, and the darkness that now consumed Wizarding society.

"Spoken both like your mother and father's son and Sirius's true godson!" said Dumbledore spiritedly, with an approving pat on Harry's back.

"And now, Harry, on a closely related subject… I gather that you have been perusing the Daily Prophet over the last two weeks."

"Yes," said Harry, and his heart beat a little faster.

"I was going to speak of this to you later, but now is as good a time as any. But perhaps we should find a more suitable location that is more guarded." After they found a bench, sheltered by the cover of the trees and after Dumbledore whispered some kind of spell — Harry guessed to prevent anyone from eavesdropping — he continued. "You will have seen that there have been not so much leaks as floods concerning your adventure in the Hall of Prophecy."

"Yes," said Harry again. "And now everyone knows that I'm the one —"

"No, they do not," interrupted Dumbledore firmly. "There are only two people in the universe who know the full contents of the prophecy made about you and Lord Voldemort, and they are both sitting on this bench. It is true, however, that many have speculated, correctly, that Voldemort sent his Death Eaters to steal a prophecy, and that the prophecy concerned you. And while many have guessed the truth, they have no way of knowing with any amount of certainty."

"Now, I think I am correct in saying that you have not told anybody that you know what the prophecy said."

"No. I mean, yes — you're correct," stammered Harry.

"A wise decision, on the whole," said Dumbledore. "Although I think you ought to relax it in favor of your friends, Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes," he continued, when Harry looked startled, "I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."

"I didn't want —"

"— to worry or frighten them?" completed Dumbledore, surveying Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened. You need your friends, Harry. As you so rightly said, Sirius would not have wanted you to shut yourself away." Harry said nothing, but Dumbledore did not seem to require an answer. He continued, "On a different, though related, subject, it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this year."

"Private? With you?" queried Harry, surprised out of his preoccupied silence.

"Yes. I think it is time that I took a greater hand in your education," explained Dumbledore. "What will you be teaching me, sir?" asked Harry. Dumbledore slowed his pace slightly and studied Harry over the top of his spectacles once more. After a moment of silence in which Harry waited anxiously, he finally said in a low voice, "It has to do with Lord Voldemort. More on this, I will not say now. We must be on watch for unfriendly ears. And it will take some time to explain." Harry nodded, accepting his explanation. Besides, his answer had been enough for Harry.

This reminded Harry of something that he now realized was pestering him, "If I'm having lessons with you, I won't have to do Occlumency lessons with Snape, will I?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry — and no, you will not."

"Good," Harry sighed in relief, "because they were a —" He stopped short, careful not to say what he really thought.

"I think the word 'fiasco' would be a suitable word," said Dumbledore, nodding.

Harry laughed.

"Well, that means I won't see much of Professor Snape from now on," he said, "because he won't let me carry on Potions unless I get an 'Outstanding' on my O.W.L., which I know I haven't."

"Don't count your owls before they are delivered," said Dumbledore gravely. "Which, now that I think of it, ought to be some time tomorrow." His results would come tomorrow. It made him slightly nervous, but he knew it was nothing compared to Hermione, even though she had nothing to worry about. Honestly, for being so smart you'd think she'd know that she'd most likely aced everything.

"So tell me, Harry," said Dumbledore, changing the topic. "About your scar…" Harry raised a hand unconsciously to his forehead and rubbed the lightning-shaped mark. "What has it been doing — before the presumed vision, and afterwards, when you felt Voldemort's emotions through your link?"

"Well, before my scar wasn't hurting at all. Which I thought was odd, I thought it would've been burning constantly with Voldemort gaining more power day-by-day."

"I, on the other hand, thought otherwise," said Dumbledore, looking satisfied. "Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you."

"Well, I'm not complaining," said Harry, who missed neither the disturbing dreams nor the startling flashes of insight into Voldemort's mind.

"But then yesterday, I felt — Voldemort seemed ecstatic," Harry contemplated, looking anxiously up at Dumbledore.

"Yes, it seems most strange. My guess is that he, in his delight, forgot to block out his emotions through the connection you share."

"But do you have any idea what it might mean? It wouldn't really be the break out, would it?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore stopped abruptly. Harry followed suit. The old wizard looked at Harry searchingly. "I hope you can trust me, Harry," he said solemnly.

"Of course, I do," replied Harry, wondering why Dumbledore thought he wouldn't trust him.

"I do believe I know the reason why Voldemort seemed so content yesterday."

"Really? Why?" Harry asked eagerly.

"This is where I must ask you to trust me, Harry. I believe it is best not to disclose this information to you as of yet."

"Oh," Harry responded somewhat dejectedly this time.

"I say this not because I do not believe I can trust you with this information, but I believe that if I tell you, your knowing may place another member of the Order in danger."

"How?" asked Harry, then realized that Dumbledore most likely could not tell him that either. "Well, if you think it will put someone at risk, then you shouldn't tell me. I don't want to place someone in danger just because I wanted to satisfy my curiosity." Dumbledore's eyes took on a remorseful, almost pained look. "It's not just that, Harry. This matter will directly affect you. You have a right to know. And indeed, if you want to know, Harry, I do not blame you; particularly seeing as how I kept you in the dark last year." Harry opened his mouth to object, but Dumbledore continued, "I will tell you, if only you promise to not act on what I tell you."

Harry contemplated this. He hated being left in the dark, but if Dumbledore told him, he might not have the restraint to do ask Dumbledore asked and not act on this knowledge, depending on what the situation was. And if his actions placed another in danger… he thought back to his reckless attempt to save Sirius from what he thought he had learned from his visions, and how his plan completely backfired. Even after Hermione and Snape tried to warn him…

"No," Harry said resolutely. "If you think it will put somebody in danger, especially someone in the Order, I don't need to know."

"You will know soon enough, Harry. I only hope you will be able to forgive me," said Dumbledore, his eyes almost pleading.

Harry stared at Dumbledore. What could he possibly know that would cause Harry to become so at odds with the man? Maybe it was best he didn't know. Harry wasn't going to be selfish and place another's life in danger. "I trust you, sir. I'm sure everything will be fine."

Instead of reassuring the old wizard, these words seemed to sober him even more, but he said nothing.

"Do you think it has anything to do with my vision?" said Harry, trying to dispel the feeling of uneasiness.

"You still do not remember anything of it?" asked Dumbledore. Harry shook his head. "Then it is difficult to say, however, the time of incidence makes it likely that they are related. In time, your memory may be triggered by some catalyst, causing you to remember the vision. But until then, do not concern yourself overly much with the issue."

Harry nodded his understanding. "Yes, sir."

"And now," said Dumbledore standing, "I believe here will do. You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," the conversation taking on a lighter tone.

"No, sir," said Harry, also standing, "but I went with Mr. Weasley to Diagon Alley."

"I see," Dumbledore said, "So you will know what to expect." Harry nodded. It seemed he would be Apparating more than once, today. Dumbledore smiled, "Then let us be off," he said, offering his arm to Harry. With only a little apprehension, Harry took it. Again he found himself in the midst of the feeling of immense pressure. And again, he found himself in another place entirely before he knew it. He opened and blinked his slightly watering eyes.

"Are you all right?" asked Dumbledore, looking down at him solicitously. "The sensation does take some getting used to." "I'm fine," said Harry, rubbing his ears, which felt as though they had left Privet Drive rather reluctantly. "But I think I might prefer brooms… I guess it was better than the first time." Dumbledore smiled, drawing his traveling cloak a little more lightly around his neck, saying, "This way." He set off at a brisk pace, past an empty inn and a few houses. According to a clock on a nearby church, it was almost midnight.

Turning around a corner and entering a small town, Harry looked sideways at Dumbledore.

"Professor?"

"Harry."

"Where are we, exactly?" he asked. "This, Harry, is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton," announced Dumbledore. "What are we doing here?" questioned Harry. "Ah yes, of course, I haven't told you," said Dumbledore. "Well, I have lost count of the number of times I have said this in recent years, but we are, once again, one member of staff short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts."

"How can I help with that, sir?"

"Oh, I think we'll find a use for you," Dumbledore said vaguely. "Left here, Harry." The proceeded up a steep, narrow street lined with houses.

A sudden thought came to Harry. "Isn't it a little late? I mean, will this colleague of yours still be up?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure he's awake." Harry thought this was odd, but didn't probe any further on the matter. Instead he asked, "Sir, I saw in the Daily Prophet that Fudge has been removed from office." "That is correct," was all the headmaster said in return, now turning up another side street. "The new minister, Scrimgeour — what do you think of him?" inquired Harry.

"An interesting question. He used to be the Head of the Auror office, as I'm sure you saw in the paper," Dumbledore said. "He is able, certainly. He has a more decisive and forceful personality than Cornelius. He is a man of action, and having fought Dark wizards for almost all of his working life, he will not underestimate Lord Voldemort," he replied, in answer to Harry's implicit question.

"The paper also said that the two of you had a disagreement," said Harry. If Dumbledore didn't want to talk about it, he didn't have to, but Harry was curious. And with his experience with the previous administration, he wanted to know all he could about this new one. He respected Dumbledore's opinion and could trust what he had to say about it.

"Yes, we did."

Harry waited, but Dumbledore did not elaborate.

Harry was about to change the topic, but then Dumbledore said, "It concerned you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Me?"

"Indeed. He was under the impression that you could help the Ministry immensely."

"And how is that, sir?"

"Well, he didn't tell me his exact intentions, but it was not all that difficult to gather. But he did make it abundantly clear that he wanted to meet with you. In other words, he wanted me to grant him free access to you, which, I hope you do not mind, Harry, I politely declined."

"Oh, no I don't mind," Harry said. "What exactly did he want me to do? I'm not a politician; and I'm only a student, what could he want from me?"

Dumbledore gave him a searching look. "Do you have any ideas? Why do _you_ think the Ministry would want to associate itself with you?"

Harry thought about this for a moment. "Well, I guess after everything the Ministry did before hand, not believing you and me about Voldemort returning, and then finding out that we were telling the truth all along, maybe the new Ministry wants to show that they're different than the old one."

"Yes, that would be part of it. They do, indeed, wish to give the public the feeling that they were not at fault — in effect, they wish to appear blameless and instead, place the entire burden on the previous administration. They wish to have the confidence of the people."

"But, no one stood up for us before. Scrimgeour, I don't remember him disagreeing with Fudge and everyone," continued Harry.

"No, indeed," said Dumbledore, seeming pleased that Harry was making headway.

"And all of the rumors about me being the 'Chosen One'. Maybe they just want to look like they've got my approval, and that I've forgiven the Ministry for everything they did to me last year."

"Exactly, Harry. And knowing you as I do, I did not think that was something you desired to do."

"No, sir," he agreed fervently.

"But I must warn you, Harry. Scrimgeour will not concede defeat so easily. He will try to find a way to get to you, and when he does, you must do whatever it is you feel is best. Do not let my opinion sway your judgment. When in doubt, always follow your instinct."

"Yes, sir."

They walked in silence for a while, but Harry found he enjoyed this time with Dumbledore, and found himself wanting to take advantage of it, so he said, "Sir — I got a Ministry leaflet about security measures they advised…"

"Yes, I received one myself. Did you find it useful?"

"Not particularly."

"No, I thought not," said Dumbledore, smiling. "You have not asked me, for instance, what my favorite flavor of jam is, to check that I am indeed Professor Dumbledore and not an impostor." Harry wasn't entirely sure whether he was being reprimanded or not. "For future reference, Harry, it is raspberry… although of course, if I were a Death Eater, I would have been sure to research my own jam preferences before impersonating myself." Harry smiled. "On that leaflet," he continued, "it said something about Inferi. What are they exactly? The leaflet wasn't very clear."

"They are corpses," said Dumbledore calmly. "Dead bodies that have been bewitched to do a Dark wizard's bidding. Inferi have not been seen for a long time, however, not since Voldemort was last powerful. He killed enough people to make an army of them, of course. This is the place, Harry, just here…" They were nearing a small, neat stone house set in its own garden. Harry was too busy digesting the horrible idea of Inferi to have much attention left for anything else, so when they reached the front gate and Dumbledore stopped dead, Harry walked straight into him.

"Oh dear. Oh dear, dear, dear." Harry followed his gaze up the carefully tended front path and felt his heart sink. The front door was hanging off its hinges.

Dumbledore glanced up and down the street. It seemed very much deserted.

"Wand out and follow me, Harry," he said quietly.

He opened the gate and walked swiftly and silently up the garden path, Harry at his heels, then pushed the front door slowly, his wand raised and at the ready.

"Lumos."

Dumbledore's wand tip ignited, casting its light up a narrow hallway. To the left, another door stood open. Holding his illuminated wand aloft, Dumbledore walked into the sitting room with Harry trailing behind him.

A scene of total devastation met their eyes. A grandfather clock lay splintered at their feet, its face cracked, its pendulum lying a little farther away like a dropped sword. A piano was on its side, its keys strewn across the floor. The wreckage of a fallen chandelier flittered nearby. Cushions lay deflated, feathers escaping from the slashes in their sides; fragments of glass and china lay like dust strewn across everything. Dumbledore raised his wand even higher, so that its light was thrown upon the walls, where something darkly red and glutinous was spattered over the wallpaper. Harry's small intake of breath made Dumbledore look around.

"Not pretty, is it." he said heavily. "Yes, something terrible has happened here." Dumbledore moved carefully into the middle of the room, scrutinizing the wreckage at his feet. Harry followed, gazing around, half-scared of what he might see hidden behind the wreck of the piano or the overturned sofa, but there was no sign of a body.

"What happened?" Harry asked with a feeling a dread.

"I'm not sure," said Dumbledore quietly, peering behind an overstuffed armchair lying on its side. Harry watched with amazement when, without warning, Dumbledore swooped, plunging the tip of his wand into the seat of the overstuffed armchair, which yelled, "Ouch!" "Good evening, Horace," said Dumbledore, straightening up again.

Harry's jaw dropped. Where before there had been an armchair, there now crouched a short, portly, bald, walrus-mustached, old man massaging his lower belly and squinting up at Dumbledore in distress. "What gave me away?" he grunted. He seemed remarkably unabashed for a man who had just been discovered pretending to be an armchair.

"My dear Horace," said Dumbledore, looking amused, "if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house." The wizard clapped a pudgy hand to his vast forehead. "The Dark Mark," he muttered. "I knew I was missing something. Still, I was pressed for time."

"Would you like my assistance clearing up?" solicited Dumbledore politely.

"Please," said the other.

Sweeping their wands in identical fashion, the furniture returned to their original positions, feathers zoomed into their cushions, all manner of broken objects reformed, rips and cracks healed and the walls were wiped clean until the whole room looked as good as new.

The man called Horace sighed, "That was my last bottle of dragon blood, too. And prices are sky-high at the moment." It was only then that his gaze fell upon Harry. "Ho!" he exclaimed, his eyes flying to Harry's forehead and the lightning-shaped scar it bore. "Oho!"

"This," said Dumbledore by way of introduction, "is Harry Potter. Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn."

Slughorn turned to Dumbledore with a shrewd expression, "So, this is how you planned on swaying me, eh? Well my answer is still the same, Albus: No," he said, facing resolutely away from them with the air of a man resisting temptation.

"Hmm. Well if you're sure, a drink, at the very least? For old time's sake?" Slughorn hesitated, "All right, then. One drink," he relented.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry and directed him toward a chair not unlike the one that Slughorn had so recently impersonated. Harry took the seat with the distinct impression that Dumbledore, for some reason, wanted to keep him as visible as possible.

"Hmpf," said Slughorn, trying desperately to avert his eyes.

"So, how have you been keeping, Horace?" Dumbledore inquired.

"I've seen better days. But that's to be expected. Old age and all of that."

"And yet you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice."

"Yes, but still. The fact remains that I'm an old man, Albus. An old, tired man, who's earned the right to quiet life." Harry had to agree with this, looking around the room. No one could say the house was without comfort, with soft, plump chairs and plenty of food and drink. The room reminded him of a rich, fussy old lady.

"So, all these precautions against intruders, Horace, are they for the Death Eaters' benefit, or mine." asked Dumbledore.

"What would the Death Eaters want with a poor rundown old man like me?" Slughorn demanded Slughorn evasively.

"I imagine that they covet your considerable talents for effective uses of coercion, torture and murder," replied Dumbledore. "Are you really telling me they have not been attempting to recruit you?" The squat wizard eyed the taller, thinner one unhappily then muttered, "I haven't given them the chance. I've been on the run for over a year. I scarcely stay in one place for more than a week's time. I'll be very sorry to leave this place; the owners of this house are Muggles who are on vacation at the moment."

"Ingenious," said Dumbledore. "However, that sounds rather exhausting for a poor, rundown old man in search of a quiet life, don't you think?"

"I know what you're going to say, Albus! If you really believe my life would be more peaceful at that pestilential school… I heard some dodgy rumors since Dolores Umbridge left —"

"Dolores ran afoul of our centaur herd," interrupted Dumbledore. "I would think that you, Horace, would have had more sense not to tread into the forest and dub a horde of angry centaurs 'filthy half-breeds'."

"Did she really?" inquired Slughorn. "Idiotic woman. Never liked her." Harry chuckled at this and both Dumbledore and Slughorn looked round at him.

"Sorry," Harry said hastily. "It's just — I didn't like her either." Dumbledore stood up very suddenly.

"Are you leaving?" asked Slughorn at once, looking hopeful.

"No, I was wondering whether I might make use of your lavatory, if I might."

"Oh," said Slughorn glumly, clearly disappointed. "Second on the left down the hall."

"Thank you," smiled Dumbledore, striding from the room, leaving Slughorn and Harry in silence. Slughorn appeared to be unsure of what to do with himself.

"Don't think I don't know why he's brought you," he barked abruptly, pointing his finger accusingly at Harry.

"You look very much like your father. Except your eyes. You have —"

"— my mother's eyes. Yes, I know." Harry did tire of hearing it all of the time.

"Hmpf. Yes, well, you shouldn't have favorites as a teacher, but she was one of mine. Your mother. Lily Evans was one of the brightest students I ever taught. Muggle-born, too, at that!"

"One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year," Harry said a little coldly. Slughorn, in his opinion, was much too surprised that a Muggle-born could be a talented witch.

"Now, now, you musn't think I'm prejudiced! Haven't I just said your mother was one of my all-time favorite students? Vivacious, too. I always used to tell her she ought to have been in my House."

"Which was that?"

"I was Head of Slytherin House. Oh, come now!" he went on quickly, seeing Harry's expression, "Don't go holding that against me! I suppose you'll be Gryffindor, then, like your parents." Harry nodded. "It usually goes in families. Not always though. Sirius Black, the whole Black family had been in my House, except Sirius. Shame he was in Gryffindor, really. He was a talented boy. Died a few weeks ago, I read in the papers." Harry's stomach clenched tightly.

Slughorn went on to describe other students who had gone on to reach varying degrees of fame and success, becoming more enthusiastic as he spoke of the connections he had forged with them. Harry got the feeling that Slughorn was quite satisfied with himself.

"But of course," he continued, "I've been out of touch with everyone for the past year, having to hide myself from the Death Eaters. "Which, I suppose, is for the best," he reminisced dolefully. "It is most prudent to remain inconspicuous during times like these. Accepting the post at Hogwarts would be tantamount to declaring my allegiance for the Order of the Phoenix, wouldn't it? And while I'm sure they're a very admirable bunch and all of the rest, I'm not made out for that kind of undertaking. And I personally don't fancy the mortal peril —"

"You don't have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts," pointed out Harry, who couldn't help but feel a little disgusted with the rather self-centered attitude that Slughorn seemed to be endorsing. "Most of the teachers aren't involved with the Order, and none of the other teachers have been killed. Well, except for Quirrell, but he was manipulated into joining forces with Voldemort." Harry had been certain that Slughorn would be one of those wizards who could not bear to hear Voldemort's name spoken aloud, and he was not disappointed. Slughorn trembled and emitted a squawk of protest, which Harry ignored. "Plus," he continued, "I reckon the staff is safer than most people while Dumbledore's headmaster. He is supposed to be 'the only one Voldemort every feared', isn't he? I mean, he's never tried to take over Hogwarts since Dumbledore's been headmaster."

Slughorn gazed into space and seemed to be mulling over Harry's words. "Yes, true, true," he muttered almost to himself. Dumbledore reentered the room and Slughorn jumped as though he had been electrically shocked, seeming to have forgotten the old wizard was in the house.

"Oh, there you are, Albus. You seem to have taken a very long time," he said suspiciously. "Upset stomach?"

"Oh, no, I was merely reading the Muggle magazines. I do love knitting patterns," he answered. "Well, Harry, I believe we have overstayed our welcome. I think we have trespassed upon Horace's hospitality quite long enough. So I believe it is time for us to leave." Not at all reluctant to obey, Harry started to his feet. Slughorn appeared to be taken aback.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one," said Dumbledore, "I'm sorry you didn't want the job." Slughorn hesitated and fidgeted as he watched Dumbledore fasten his cloak and Harry zip up his jacket.

"You are always welcome to visit, of course," said Dumbledore, raising his hand in farewell. "Good-bye, then."

"Bye," said Harry.

They were at the front door when a shout came from behind them.

"All right, all right, I'll do it!" Dumbledore turned to see Slughorn standing breathless in the doorway.

"You will come out of retirement?"

"Yes, yes," said Slughorn impatiently. "I must be barking mad, but yes."

"Wonderful!" said Dumbledore, beaming. "Then we shall look forward to seeing you on the first of September."

"Yes, I daresay you will," grumbled Slughorn.

As they set off down the garden path, Slughorn's voice floated after them, "I'll want a raise, Dumbledore!" Dumbledore chuckled. The garden gate swung shut behind them, and they set off back down the hill they had traversed earlier.

"Well done, Harry," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"I didn't do anything," said Harry in surprise.

"Oh, but you most certainly did. You showed Horace how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?"

Harry wasn't sure whether he had liked him or not. He supposed he had been pleasant enough, but Harry also got the feeling that Slughorn was a bit pompous and self-interested. "Um…"

"Horace," spoke Dumbledore, thankfully relieving Harry of searching for an answer, "likes his comfort. He also enjoys the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He likes to believe that he influences these people and the feeling it gives him. But he has never wanted those things for himself. He used to handpick his favorite students at Hogwarts for various reasons. He had an uncanny knack for selecting those who would go on to become respected in their corresponding fields, and formed a club of sorts. He made introductions and contacts between members and, in return, he usually reaped some sort of benefit. I tell you this, Harry, not to turn you against Horace — or rather, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You will be the main attraction of his collection. But he is not a bad man, and is certainly capable for the job."

Suddenly a Patronus with the form of a lynx materialized. "Burrow. Under attack," it said.

Dumbledore's demeanor became immediately grave. Harry was beginning to panic. Nothing could happen to the Weasleys. He thought of his best friends, Ron and Hermione, who were there, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who had always been so kind to him. His gut seemed to be wrenched in two in growing fear and trepidation.

"It seems Voldemort has seen fit to send his followers forth to the Burrow," Dumbledore said somberly. "I must go at once."

"I'll come with you," Harry said quickly.

"No," Dumbledore said firmly. "I'm sorry, Harry," he said more gently, "but I can't allow you to do that. I know that you want to help."

"My friends are there! The Weasleys, they —"

"I know, Harry, but you cannot come with me. It is too dangerous."

"But —"

"I know you are a capable wizard, Harry, but that does not mean you should voluntarily put yourself in harm's way unnecessarily. And time presses on; we must hurry."

Realizing that he would not convince Dumbledore otherwise, Harry admitted it would be best if Dumbledore could be there as soon as possible.

"Yes, sir," he said miserably.

"If you will, grasp my arm, Harry." Harry did, and this time, barely registered the feeling of compression that came with Apparition, too preoccupied with what could possibly happening at the Burrow.

"I will leave you here, Harry. Get inside, now." It was then that Harry realized that they were at the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive. At the moment, he couldn't even find it in himself to be upset that he was going back to the Dursleys. Dumbledore had unlocked the front door with a brief flick of his wand. Harry nodded dumbly and somehow possessed the ability to walk to the front door. He turned to look at Dumbledore one last time, but found that the old wizard was looking back at him with almost a look of regret. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but then the expression was gone and he merely said, "Goodbye, Harry."

And then he vanished.

"Goodbye," whispered Harry belatedly. And although he turned to enter the Dursleys' house, his mind was elsewhere, at one of the only places in the world Harry had ever felt truly at home.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 5:

Following the news regarding the Burrow, Harry finds himself feeling constricted. Overcome with restlessness, he must restrain himself from acting impulsively. But as we have seen, our teenaged boy protagonist attracts trouble as flies to honey. His worlds collide, putting events into motion that cannot be undone.

… _his feeling of slight unease became a feeling of sudden foreboding. Something was wrong. He had felt this phenomenon many times before, some primal instinct warning him of danger. On some intuition, he went to the window at the end of the hallway and looked outside. What he saw jolted his heart, which was now pumping blood at an increasingly rapid rate._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] I know Regulus is younger in the books, but I always pictured him as being the older brother and Sirius being the younger brother. It just seems right to me.

[2] Raise your hand (I know, I know, I won't see it so what's the point, but just indulge me) if you thought 'Witherwings' was a lame name (Buckbeak was so much better), I mean, really? Wither means wilt, shrivel, weaken, etc. you really want to ride a hippogriff whose wings wither? I think not. I seriously considered changing it to rechristen him Aetherwing. Not that I think my name was that much better, but I do contest that it is better… At least, I hope. But instead I decided to leave this part out and let everyone call him Buckbeak. I actually wrote it originally with new name, but then I thought 'screw it, he's Buckbeak' and re-edited it. Let's just assume they decided it was safe to call him Buckbeak now. After all, it is three years later. Any opinions? If an overwhelming majority believes I should absolutely rename him, then I will (please send your suggestions regarding the rename if this is the case)… Maybe.

A/N: Sorry if Dudley's transformation seemed too sudden, but I believe that someone saving your life is a pretty drastic event and could definitely get you to immediately alter your opinion about someone. Plus, Dudley's had all year to think about this, so I thought it would be more natural for him to progress to this point now rather than have it come out of the blue in the beginning of the seventh book (or in my case, the second installment).

This chapter turned out to be quite long, too. The next one shouldn't be as long, but should also be longer than the first and third chapters, I expect. It will really vary to some degree, but that's about as large as the range will be. As I get more of my ideas down, the length should become more consistent.

Signing off,

fanster


	6. An Unexpected Visit

DISCLAIMER: Do I look like I own Harry Potter? … Yeah, that's what I thought.

And also as a forewarning, there is some cursing in this chapter, and one use of the f-word. But I didn't think this constituted an M rating. (In America, you get one in a PG-13 movie, so how is this different?). Because of this, I have increased the rating to T to be safe. To me, words are just a string of letters put together, and the idea that a sequence of syllables is innately harmful is quite ludicrous. Derogatory terms, however, have a tangible history and are meant to demean a specific group of people based on prejudices and I believe this is quite different from merely profane vulgarities. I do, however, believe that people should have enough intelligence to articulate their words in a more creative fashion. But this isn't about me, and sometimes, it is the crudeness that people want to get across. When I use profanities and curse words (which won't be often) it will be because I believe that the character might use it in that particular situation. I mean, it's just unrealistic to think that a bunch of teenagers and adults are going to say something like "gee willikers", "holy smokes" or "golly gosh gee!" in a moment of extreme duress, isn't it? Anyways, you can ignore me now…

* * *

Chapter 5

An Unexpected Visit

How Harry was able to navigate the stairs to his bedroom, he never knew. He crept into his bed and lay there, numb and shaken, pulling his blankets tightly around him though he wasn't cold. He didn't even have the energy to pace around in his anxiety. He didn't want to contemplate what horrors his friends and the Weasleys might be facing, but his perverse mind seemed to be unable to do anything besides visualize the worst. He felt completely alone. This was nothing new to him, growing up at the Dursleys', but now, it hit him with frightening force.

Even having Hedwig there would have alleviated a fraction of his growing sense of pure terror. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he recalled the tracking device he had bought for her. But it was then that he realized that Dumbledore still had all of his things, excepting his wand and invisibility cloak.

Somehow, miraculously, Hedwig again demonstrated her apparent knack for impeccable timing, hovering outside Harry's bedroom window and rapping the glass softly with her beak. Harry moved to open the window to allow her entry. "Hey, girl," he greeted. He felt almost like enveloping her in a giant hug in his relief, but thought it was best not to have his bird in one piece, only to strangle her now. Hedwig, seeming to sense his insecurities, flew up to his shoulder and nuzzled the hollow of his neck, then nibbled his ear affectionately.

Maybe she could sense the imminent danger. Maybe she even knew that Harry would be coming back here before he did. It could be something that could only be perceived through unadulterated animal instinct, perhaps. _Now if I could only learn that everyone else is alright_, thought Harry. It was impossibly terrifying, sitting there unable to do anything; maybe even more so than any of his dangerous exploits. He'd much rather be _doing_ something, anything. But now, he was helpless. Everything was beyond his control.

Hedwig stood upon his mattress as he lay there, stroking her feathers, taking some small comfort in the action.

Slowly but surely, Harry was able to finally find slumber; but it was fitful and full of terrors and grotesque intrusions that confirmed his worst fears.

A sharp hoot woke him up, and he realized he was thrashing about, pale and sweating; no doubt brought about from some nightmarish vision.

"…bloody owl!" Harry could hear his Uncle Vernon shouting. Harry tried to get up as fast as he could, but disoriented from that sensation that comes with being in a state of semi-consciousness compounded with the fact that he had gotten little to no rest, before he knew it, his uncle had banged the door open and was standing in his doorway menacingly. His face was, predictably, brilliant red.

"You dare — after that rude display of — you're lucky I don't —" he spluttered. It took his uncle a moment to collect himself. "I thought you weren't coming back here, boy! That man — the old coot," he added under breath, in a tone of supreme disdain, "he said you were leaving for the rest of the summer. So why are you back here, waking us up with that damned bird of yours?" Petunia was now at the door, and soon Dudley was, too. Hedwig screeched indignantly, only further angering the large man. "Here we think we're done dealing with you for the year, and you decide to take advantage of our hospitality, eh? Just do whatever you please, no matter how it may inconvenience us!" he roared, his mustache quivering. Harry was amazed that it hadn't fallen off from the force of his uncle's bellows. He looked half-mad, spittle threatening to spray forth. "You have no regard for anyone but yourself, you —"

Harry thought that was rich. Well, he wasn't going to take this anymore. He was already stressed to the maximum and he wasn't going to waste his time and energy trying to appease the relatives who cared nothing about him.

"Yeah, because that's all I've ever been to you, isn't it? An inconvenience! Most people would have taken me in and treated me like you're supposed to treat a child or a relative, even if I am a wizard. It's not my fault that I'm a wizard! Do you know how hard it's been to live in this godforsaken place? Do you know what it's like to never have adults that care about you during your entire childhood? And then get it, but then have it taken away from you!" he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. Harry didn't know where all of this was coming from, but he suspected now that he had just suppressed all of these sentiments — tucked them away in some far corner of his mind, and now, it was all exploding outwards in full force. It was strangely cathartic. He was breathing hard and fast now, even more than after he went on his runs.

His Aunt Petunia had that odd expression on her face that had been present after Mr. Weasley had healed her wound. Dudley looked as if he wasn't quite sure of what to do. Vernon, however, was beginning to turn a deep crimson. "Now, you listen here, boy —"

"You really think I _wanted_ to come back here? Ha!" Harry gave a sinister laugh at this. "I didn't have a choice. The place I was going to stay was attacked! And I have no idea what's happening or if my friends are safe," he shouted, raw fear starting to blend with his feelings of anger, voicing aloud his fears more to himself than to his relatives.

Vernon didn't seem to expect this response, but ploughed on adamantly, "Oh, attacked, was it? Well that's a very likely story —"

"Yes! It was attacked, and I was sent back here! Because of that goddamn blood magic!"

"DON'T YOU DARE SAY THAT WORD IN THIS HOU —"

"— and when I come of age, I can leave. _Forever_. And I'll never have to step foot in this fucking house again!" Harry didn't usually swear this frequently or so crudely, but he was scared, he was furious, and wanted nothing to do with his uncle right now.

At this, his uncle was stammering in a seething, yet nonverbal rage. Petunia timidly tried to placate her fuming husband. "Sweetheart? Let's go downstairs, talk about it there. I'll make you breakfast." But even food, it seemed, was preceded by his desire to browbeat Harry some more. "Please," pleaded Petunia, now tugging on Vernon's sleeve desperately. It appeared that even Aunt Petunia didn't want to experience Vernon's legendary fury. Maybe she was recalling the time he had seemingly gone mad, taking the family to a tiny hut on a remote, miserable island in the middle of the ocean in an attempt to prevent Harry from going to Hogwarts.

"I want you out," his uncle said in a low voice. "Get out of this house! NOW!" by the end his uncle's speech had risen to a raucous shout.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia said timidly. "Vernon, honey, you know we can't do that."

Vernon looked like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. "And why not, hmm? Why should we care what happens to him?"

Dudley looked sharply at his father, as if taking seriously for the first time that Harry just might be thrown out of the house. He threatened to do so all of the time, and the only other time Harry thought he was in any real danger of being forced to leave ('forced' being a rather strong word in Harry's mind) was last summer when the dementors attacked him and Dudley. Harry wondered if Dumbledore would send another Howler.

His Aunt Petunia, it seemed, was thinking the very same thing. "Because those people — _his_ people — won't let us."

"Won't _let_ us. What d'you mean, won't _let_ us?" growled Uncle Vernon.

"I don't know! But they'll do something! They'll make sure," said Aunt Petunia, sounding a little panicky. "He won't be with us much longer. Come on, love, let's just go downstairs."

Uncle Vernon, apparently spent or having run out of things to say, grudgingly acquiesced and directed himself toward the staircase, but not before threatening, "This is not the end, _boy_." Aunt Petunia once again gave Harry that peculiar look, but it quickly vanished and she went to follow her husband down the stairs. Dudley, however, stayed behind. Confused, Petunia turned around to look at him and asked, "Dudders, are you coming?" Dudley then gave Harry a look that said, 'what can you do?' before also heading downstairs for breakfast.

Harry had no desire to go down and join his extended family. He flopped onto his bed and lay there; slowly, he began to fall asleep…

He woke up to his gurgling stomach. It was early afternoon, and he hadn't eaten anything all day. In fact, the last thing he ate was the ice cream he bought at Diagon Alley, as in his excitement at Dumbledore's impending arrival and his discussion with Dudley, he unwittingly skipped dinner. The food he usually stored under the loose floorboard was gone and packed among his other belongings with Dumbledore.

He sighed, it was doubtful his relatives would give him any food after his blatant display of insubordination. But he had nothing to lose, and decided he would give it a try. The worst that could happen was another outburst from his uncle. In this case, Harry thought, the possible benefits outweighed the costs.

Making his way downstairs and into the sitting room on his way to the kitchen, his uncle's voice stopped him short. "And just what do you think you're doing?" he enquired, smirking, his eyes glinting maliciously. It seemed that his uncle had anticipated this predicament and relished the idea of refusing Harry any food. Indeed, Harry could imagine that his uncle had been sitting there since this morning, awaiting this moment.

Harry didn't have anything to say and instead, continued on his way to the kitchen like he did the other morning. Vernon, it seemed, did not appreciate this one bit. "Hey, you listen to me while I'm talking to you, boy!"

At the commotion, Aunt Petunia poked her head out of the kitchen. Dudley was still there, sitting at the table, eating some cereal and watching TV. "Petunia, darling," announced Uncle Vernon, "the boy here is under the impression that we're going to feed him after that little spat of his."

She looked unsure how to respond then to Harry's amazement said, "Well, we can't starve him." Uncle Vernon looked flabbergasted to say the least. "Those people will come if we treat him too poorly. He'll use that dratted owl to tell them," she added. But her remarks carried less zest than usual. This did not go unnoticed by Dudley, who had paused mid-bite, the milk spilling off of his spoon with a trickle into the bowl. Vernon was also eyeing her dubiously, "But, Petunia…" he said weakly.

"They simply cannot be seen here, the neighbors are probably already suspicious," she interjected. "I do not want any more of _their_ kind here." To Harry this still seemed a feeble argument, but he didn't complain. A surreptitious glance with his cousin confirmed that Dudley, too, had come to the same conclusion. Vernon, however, seemed to be satisfied with her explanation, but still looked as if he had something precious stolen from right beneath him.

"Here," said Aunt Petunia brusquely, pushing a plate that consisted of an egg salad sandwich towards Harry. She did not look at him. Harry knew better than to thank her, but this brought the oddly-behaving relative tally to two in the Dursley household.

After he was finished, through much grumbling from Vernon, he decided to go upstairs and return to his bedroom.

Things would be so much less complicated if his relatives weren't so mulish. And he was still worried sick for the Weasleys. These thoughts occupied him until something made him look up. It was his cousin Dudley, standing in the doorway.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," Harry responded in kind. Although they were on good terms now, conversation was still stilted at times.

"You said it was attacked, the place where those red-headed people live?"

"Yeah," Harry answered dejectedly.

"Who? Was it the guy who's after you?"

"Yes. Not directly him, but he gave the orders."

"What are you going to do?"

"I dunno. Wait for Dumbledore to contact me, I guess. I'll probably end up staying here for the summer until I can go to Hogwarts. Your dad is gonna be thrilled. What are you doing up here anyways, Dudley?" Harry asked tonelessly. Everything seemed lifeless. Where before Harry was experiencing paroxysms of emotion, now he was numb and going through the motions perfunctorily as if in a stupor.

"It's just — you seemed weird — I mean, you seemed really tense and everything. I was just wondering what was going on."

Was this Dudley's way of saying he was worried? It was strange to think that mere days ago, Harry believed his cousin wanted nothing to do with him, to now being concerned in some small way for his personal well-being. It was then that Harry realized that this was what he had been subconsciously longing for in appealing to Hedwig: some kind of reassurance, someone who cared about what Harry was feeling, how he was doing. Never in a million years did he believe this would come from Dudley. And for the first time in his life, Harry was glad that Dudley Dursley was his cousin.

Harry sighed in frustration. "I'm just worried about my friends." Dudley nodded in silence, not really knowing what to say. After a while Harry had a sudden idea, "Hey, I know what would make me feel better." Dudley simply gave him a questioning look. "Let's go play basketball," continued Harry. He registered how odd it was for him to be asking Dudley this, but he was going to have to get used to it sometime.

"Is that such a good idea?" Dudley asked. Harry stared at him. "Well, this guy that's after you, he attacked your friend's house. Couldn't he come after you?"

Again, Dudley had found a way to, once again, amaze Harry. "The reason I came back here was because I'm protected by the blood magic."

"But, will that work outsi — ?"

"— and I'm sure everything will be fine. I've got someone guarding me, too. I found out about it last year. It's just to the park, no big deal." In actuality, Harry knew that this was a somewhat reckless move, but he just couldn't stay up here. He was growing much too restless and felt that if he stayed up here any longer, he would explode. All of the emotions coursing through him were many and strong.

"Alright," Dudley acquiesced. "I'm not much of a basketball player though, I didn't know you played. Do they have basketball in the Wizarding world?"

"No, but I've been playing around here this summer."

"Ah, so that's what you've been up to."

"Yeah, and running, sometimes football. Whatever I'm in the mood for."

"What's up with this sudden exercise phase?"

"I dunno, I just — I feel like I'm accomplishing something when I work out."

Dudley nodded again, "I can understand that." Indeed, boxing had given him something he excelled in and was the primary reason for his weight loss.

As it turned out, Dudley wasn't as bad as he claimed. He couldn't shoot the ball all that well, but could power his way down low with his large frame and make lay-ins easily enough. Harry had gotten much better at shooting himself, although still nowhere near the guys that had played since they were young.

Afterwards, both sweating and breathing slightly faster from the physical exertion, they headed back to Privet Drive.

"Feeling better now?" Dudley asked casually.

"Yes, actually, I am." And he did. The workout had taken away much of his stress, although he was still worried for his friends; but that couldn't be helped.

"It's weird; if someone told me I would be playing basketball with you a while ago…"

"Ha ha, I know what you mean," chuckled Harry.

"It was fun though," stated Dudley.

"Yeah, it was."

Walking further down the street, Harry stopped dead. Dudley stopped, too. "Harry? What's up?"

A car was stopped in the middle of the road, and the kindly man John Bright was getting out and running in their direction. Then Harry heard a noise to his left. Between two buildings, he saw a man who looked to be in his twenties, clearly assaulting someone; but Harry couldn't see who the victim was, as the attacker was blocking his view. By now, Dudley had caught on to what was happening. They both sprinted over to the other pair. "Come on, give me your shit! Then maybe we can have a little fun," they could hear as they approached the alleyway.

Harry knew better than to pull out his wand, but was more inclined to punch the living daylights out of the aggressor anyhow. He reached the man first, catching him by surprise. Harry hit the man squarely in the jaw, and he now saw that the victim was a girl, about the same age as him. The attacker, now aware of his surroundings, aimed a fist at Harry.

Harry, with his seeker's reflexes, was able to dodge the blow; then went to punch him again. But this time, the attacker was prepared and was able avoid the full brunt of the damage. Harry knew he couldn't keep this up for too much longer; he wasn't used to physical confrontation. He was in better physical condition, certainly, but he wasn't a Muggle fighter.

Indeed, the man's next strike caught him and Harry took a blow to the stomach, before he swung his elbow wildly at the man's chest. Everything was happening at lightning speed, and the next thing Harry knew, Dudley came out of nowhere to give the man a sound and solid roundhouse punch. Dudley easily had the size advantage unlike Harry, and almost effortlessly seized the would-be mugger, slamming him against the wall, trouncing the man blow-by-blow. This was the first time Harry had truly witnessed Dudley in his element, and he quickly concluded that he would _not_ want to be the opposition.

Sensing that Dudley had the situation well in hand, Harry took the opportunity to check up on the girl. "Are you alright?" he asked gently. She nodded her head silently, though a few stray tears made their way down her face. Harry looked at her with concern.

"You're shite!" Harry could hear Dudley yelling, the sound of a thud indicating that he had accentuated his point rather violently. "Yeah, I bet you're sorry now, aren't ya, you sorry son of a bitch?" He turned to look at Harry and the girl. "Are you alright?" he asked, mirroring Harry's question from earlier.

But in his distraction, the attacker fled, undoubtedly not wanting to endure Dudley's presence any longer. He got a few meters away, but before either of the boys could react, John had arrived at the scene spectacularly, tackling the escapee to the ground and pinning him there. "Huh uh, you're not going anywhere," he said. Turning to Harry he asked, "Do either of you have a phone on you?"

"I'm on it," said Dudley, pulling out his cell and calling the emergency services.

While waiting for the police, Harry went to the girl again, asking "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," she finally spoke. "He didn't get me too bad before you guys showed up."

It sickened Harry that anyone would do such a despicable thing.

"Thanks," she added shyly.

"You don't have to thank us," he said earnestly. "What kind of person would just leave you here?"

When the police arrived they asked a few questions and took the unidentified man into custody. Once satisfied that the girl (Kayla, Harry learned was her name) was largely unharmed and thanked the group for their efforts, they departed, one taking the criminal and another escorting the young woman home.

"I'm glad you two were here," said John, now that everything had settled down. "And who is this Harry, your friend?"

"His cousin," answered Dudley, extending a hand. "Dudley Dursley. Nice to meet you," he added.

"Likewise, John Bright's the name," he replied, shaking Dudley's hand. "Lucky we were here, really. I can only imagine what else that monster would have done. Are you two alright?"

"Yes."

"We're fine."

"Would you guys like a lift home?"

"Nah, that's alright."

"Well then," John said good-naturedly, "I expect I'll be seeing you around."

"Bye," they said.

Once he was gone Dudley said, "Well today has been interesting."

"Heh, you can say that again," replied Harry. After a brief pause he told Dudley, "You really handed it to that guy." Dudley shrugged. "I'm a boxer, it's what I do. That guy has probably never even picked a real fight before." Harry thought that was most likely true considering the man's target.

When they reached arrived at the Dursleys', Harry decided to take a shower, not caring much for his uncle's rule at the moment. Once cleaned and redressed in his room, Dudley appeared asking, "You didn't happen to see my memory card lying around, have you? I'm going over to Cole's to play _Call of Duty_."

"Sorry, no, I haven't," replied Harry.

Dudley hesitated. "You don't want to come, do you?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. He could tell Dudley was trying to be polite, but he didn't seem entirely comfortable and to be honest, Harry wasn't really sure he was either. They had certainly been on better terms — Harry would have never imagined they would ever even manage to have a civil conversation — but it would take some time to overcome the history they shared.

"Nah, that's alright. I already risked one outing today, I probably shouldn't risk another." Harry noted that Dudley looked a little relieved. "Besides, I expect Dumbledore will be contacting me soo —"

In burst Fawkes with a flash of flames. Really, Harry thought, the ability of these birds was beginning to get a bit ridiculous. The brilliant red bird then soared over to Harry, proffering a note. Harry accepted it and thanked Fawkes, who allowed Harry to pet him for a moment. Then he let out a shrill note and departed in the same fashion.

Harry quickly opened the note and read Dumbledore's message in trepidation at what he might discover. With a major sense of relief he read that no one had been seriously injured. He felt as if a heavy weight was lifted from his chest, alleviating the pressure that had seemed to settle and accumulate there.

Harry looked up to see a look of utter astonishment on his cousin's face. "What the hell just happened?" he asked.

Harry realized how bizarre a burning bird that could appear and vanish into thin air must be to Dudley.

"That was Fawkes. He's a phoenix, which are magical birds. He belongs to Dumbledore; he sent me a note. Everyone is alright."

Dudley shook his head in dumb amazement. "Wow… Well, that's good — that everyone's alright."

"Yes, yes it is."

"Well, I guess I'll be going then. I suppose I'll look in my room again."

At first, Harry didn't understand what Dudley was talking about, but then remembered why Dudley had come here in the first place. While Dudley went to his bedroom to look for his memory card, Harry decided to head downstairs to get a glass of water. Although he was extremely relieved by the news he just received, he still felt a little unsettled. Just nerves, he reasoned. But in the hallway, his feeling of slight unease became a feeling of sudden foreboding. Something was wrong. He had felt this phenomenon many times before, some primal instinct warning him of danger. On some intuition, he went to the window at the end of the hallway and looked outside. What he saw jolted his heart, which was now pumping blood at an increasingly rapid rate.

"Well, I'm off. See you later," he heard Dudley say.

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"No. You can't go out," said Harry, not taking his eyes off of what he was looking at outside the window.

Confused, Dudley went to see what Harry was staring at. Looking out, he saw two dark shapes: figures dressed in long, black robes. Their faces were concealed by white masks. To Harry, it was the unmistakable garb of the Death Eaters. He had become far more familiar with them than he had ever wished.

Dudley looked up. "Who are they?"

"They're the people who are after me," Harry said simply.

To his credit, Dudley seemed to be handling this revelation extremely well; much better than Harry expected his aunt and uncle to react. His cousin looked somewhat frightened, but not panicked.

_How did they get here?_ Harry was bewildered. _They shouldn't be able to get in here_. The blood magic should have prevented that, he still wasn't of age yet. Then, clear as a bell, the words of Dumbledore last night reverberated in his mind: _I hope you can trust me, Harry_. Could Dumbledore have possibly known that this would happen? Well, there was no time to contemplate that now.

"Come on," Harry said to Dudley, leading him downstairs.

Downstairs, Aunt Petunia was reading _Hello!_ Magazine while Uncle Vernon watched golf on the television. Vernon looked up suspiciously upon seeing Harry and Dudley practically running down the stairs together.

"Now what's he done, Dud —"

But Harry knew there was no time for this either. Now aware that they were in a very precarious position, Harry had reverted into being a man of action. His head was clear of all thoughts except what needed to be done.

"They're here. The Death Eaters are just outside. We saw them from the window upstairs," he related tersely, appealing to Petunia in the hopes that she was familiar with the term. He got his wish, as his aunt had paled quite suddenly. "The ones that killed Lily?" she whispered [1]. Harry nodded mutely, and noting with surprise that Petunia had only referred to her deceased sister a handful of times. Now she was wearing that same peculiar expression for the third time today.

"You need to stay low. Hide. The basement will probably be the best place. Stay out of sight. They don't know that you're here," Harry continued, "but you need to go now. Quickly!" he prompted when no one showed any signs of movement. Aunt Petunia appeared to be in shock and Uncle Vernon seemed to be trying to process everything.

"But you'll be alone," objected Dudley. "We can't just leave you out here to —"

"Dudley!" Harry interrupted. "This isn't like what happened earlier today. They have magic, and they are strong in the dark arts. They won't have any mercy. They'll kill you without so much as a second thought! Your fists won't help you here," he said, trying to make his cousin see reason. "And I won't be alone. There are always guards on duty here. They will alert the others." _I hope_.

Harry added as many protective charms he could think of to guard the door.

"Wait a minute," said Vernon, finally catching on to what was happening. "You brought these people here! Is that why you came back? Why you no good, son of a —"

"Of course, not! Why would I go out and find people that want to kill me?"

"Then you led them here! Your freaky friends just got attacked and you brought that danger with you! You've put my family in danger —"

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly. "I didn't know they would come after me. I thought the blood magic still protected everyone. I guess they found a way around that. But there's no time to argue now. If you want to protect your family, you need to hide. Now," he added as he heard bangs coming from the other side of the door.

Vernon still looked like he wanted to get some choice words in and probably didn't appreciate being told what to do one bit. But Harry would have none of this. "GO!" he yelled. "Dudley, you too." Dudley looked like he wanted to stay and help, but it seemed that the imminent danger to her son finally brought Petunia out of her reverie. "Dudley, you come with us now! Vernon, get him!" And for the first time, Harry saw the look of pure terror fill Dudley's face, as his cousin was dragged into the basement with his family.

Harry shoved various things over the door to the basement and shut the closet door where the entrance to the basement was located. He wondered if he should protect it with a few charms, but the spells he knew would surely be broken with ease and he didn't know if the Death Eaters could detect or trace magic. He didn't want to inadvertently draw attention to the Dursleys.

Now, he turned to the door. A loud _pop!_ broke Harry's concentration.

"Whoa, there 'Arry. There's no need for ya to be pointin' that at me. It's me, Mundungus." Harry lowered his wand. "Don' worry, they still can't Apparate in 'ere. I was on duty with Tonks, but she's unconscious right now."

"And you just left her out there!" Harry shouted indignantly.

"'Course not! Ya really think I would do that? I couldn't _Rennervate _her so I put 'er in your room and cast a Disillusionment Charm on 'er before comin' down 'ere. She's hidden. Sorry if I startled ya."

"It's alright," said Harry, grateful that Mundungus at least had the sense to get Tonks out of there and act with speed.

"Did you alert the Order and the Aurors?"

"Yeah, I sent out the distress signal to Dumbledore and Kingsley."

"Good." Well, Harry thought, he _did_ become a member of the Order, after all. His previous experience with Mundungus' 'expertise' probably gave Harry a less than charitable assessment of his abilities. Meanwhile, Mundungus also added some more protection charms upon the door.

_We need a plan_, Harry thought. There was possibly enough time to catch the Death Eaters by surprise. They would surely expect for them to be waiting here like this. And then a sudden inspiration came to him. "_Accio_ money jar," he said. "Whatcha doin'?" asked Mundungus. Harry ignored him. "_Windgardium Leviosa_." He guided the jar of coins to the door and let it fall. Mundungus gave him a look as if he had gone crazy. Harry wished he could set up a trip wire or something, but he was pressed for time.

As if on cue, the Death Eaters burst forth into the front door. But both lost balance slipping on the coins and grabbed on to each other for balance. While the Death Eaters were focused on trying not to fall, Harry shouted, "_Stupefy!_" Mundungus stunned the other.

"Where didja get that idea, huh?" he asked, grabbing the wands of the two fallen Death Eaters.

Harry remembered when Dudley had done that to him on a few occasions with marbles. _Thank you, Dudley_. "My cousin did it to me a couple times when were younger. Come on, I bet there's more."

Stepping outside, there was nothing out of the ordinary. It was deathly quiet though and the silence unsettled Harry more than fifty Death Eaters would have. Harry and Mundungus gave each other curious looks. Where could they be? Voldemort wouldn't have sent just two Death Eaters. Maybe they were trying to lure them into a vulnerable position. Standing just outside the door, they waited.

Harry could sense something. He just wasn't sure what. And were his eyes deceiving him or was that patch of grass actually _moving_? Then thinking back to something Mundungus said earlier, Harry shouted, "Duck!" and pulled Mundungus down with him as sparks of various colors flew overhead.

Mundungus looked around, confused. "They were using Disillusionment Charms!" Harry explained. "Finite Incantantem!" shouted Mundungus. Suddenly a half a dozen Death Eaters vanished out of nowhere, all strategically spaced out. "_Stupefy! Impedimenta! Protego! Stupefy!_" bellowed Harry. Next to him, Mundungus was also calling out spells. But the Death Eaters were able to repel most of the attacks. "_Petrificus Totalus!_" shouted Harry. One of the Death Eaters buckled and fell still, but it was only a matter of time before someone uttered the counter-curse, and they were outnumbered. "_Expelliarmus!_" The wand of the unconscious Death Eater flew into Harry's non-wand hand. At least this way, when the Death Eater was revived, he or she would be unarmed. Soon, Harry and Mundungus had two of the Death Eaters unarmed and another out cold. But they were beginning to gain ground. And Harry wasn't sure how long the two of them could fend off the Death Eaters. Mundungus apparently shared this sentiment shouting, "We should git inside, 'Arry!" above all of the commotion.

They closed the doors and once again placed protective charms on them. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," Harry could hear one of the Death Eaters taunting. "How long do you think they'll be?" asked Harry. But before Mundungus could answer they heard something coming from the stairs. They both wheeled around, but to their relief it was Tonks.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"There are about six Death Eaters outside the door. We took care of these two," Harry explained pointing to the comatose men in the hallway. "And we got a couple of the ones from outside, but I'm not sure if they're still out. What should we do with these two?" he asked.

"'Ere, I got an idea," said Mundungus, surprising both Harry and Tonks. "_Incarcerous_" he commanded, and the Death Eaters were bound in ropes. "Maybe we could transfigure them into somethin'?" he asked. Harry was reminded of the time 'Moody' transformed Malfoy into a ferret. "Maybe mice," suggested Harry, "that way we could hide them somewhere." "Ooh, good idea, Harry," said Tonks. She then performed the spell and they hid the now tied up mice in a tea server on the coffee table. Harry couldn't help but think how much his Aunt Petunia would be squirming if she saw this.

"Where's your family?" asked Tonks.

"They're hidden. In the basement."

"Good."

"Uh-oh," said Mundungus.

"What?" the other two replied.

"There's more. We'd better hurry and come up with something quick," he said, motioning outside the window. Harry went to have a look and saw that there were now ten or so Death Eaters outside converging towards the front door of the house. Before they could do anything else, they heard something once again coming from the upstairs.

"Check it out, Tonks. Harry and I will guard the door. Dammit! Why aren't they 'ere yet?"

And then, everything happened all at once. The front door exploded open and shouts were heard from upstairs; meanwhile, Lupin, Moody and Mr. Weasley all appeared in the living room. "We've got company!" Mundungus shouted. It wasn't exactly clear whom he was referring to. But the new arrivals were experienced and came prepared, fully expecting to be thrown right into the fray. Hexes, jinxes, curses and all manner of spells were thrown every which way. Harry, seeing that Tonks was outnumbered upstairs went to help.

There were four more Death Eaters that had got into the house through the windows upstairs. "_Stupefy!_" he yelled. Taking a defensive stance, back-to-back and facing to the side, Tonks and Harry were able to keep the four at bay for a while. Then one of them shot the same purple-flamed spell Harry had seen Hermione get hit with at the Ministry. It must be Dolohov. "_Protego!_" he shouted. In his preoccupation with protecting Tonks, Harry didn't notice the Death Eater that had crept up behind him from downstairs.

He heard the tell-tale creak of the floorboard, but it was too late. He was disarmed and his wand went flying out of his hand. The adversary already had his wand pointed at Harry by the time he turned around. Suddenly, out of nowhere a grey blur streaked past and slammed into the man's arm. His curse missed Harry wide and glanced off to his side. Harry's would-be attacker swung around wildly, and the grey shape that had previously been clinging to the man's arm slammed into the opposite wall. Now, Harry could see that the shape was a cat. There was something strangely familiar about it. He was aghast when he saw the feline transform into a human that he recognized immediately. It was McGonagall. Blood was trickling from her head where it had impacted the wall and she didn't look like she would be recovering anytime soon, at least not before the man attacked her again.

Harry felt a deep appreciation for his Head of House that he hadn't before and a fierce pride that burned within him. Not having his wand, he threw himself at the man and started punching him wherever he could. He grabbed the man's wrist and pointed the wand away from McGonagall and himself. Harry found himself in his second physical confrontation of the day as the two wrestled for leverage. They slammed into the wall and Harry realized that the window was ajar; some of the Death Eaters must have come through this way. Harry kicked his feet under the man's legs and pushed with all of his might. The man lost his balance and toppled out of the window, tumbling onto the overhang and falling with a thud onto the ground below. It wasn't a high enough fall to kill the man, but hopefully he had sustained a severe enough injury to keep him out of action for the duration of the battle.

"_Expelliarmus_," shouted Tonks. The man's wand and Harry's soared into her hands and she held out his own wand.

"Thanks."

"Wotcher, Harry."

Harry looked around. It looked as though Lupin had also come to assist Tonks, and the two of them were able to take out the Death Eaters upstairs.

"Hey, Harry," greeted Lupin quickly.

"Hi." It was almost comical, there wasn't much time for proper 'hellos' to say the least.

Harry turned to McGonagall. Lupin healed her wound as much as he could. "I'm fine," she protested. Harry helped her up. At first she seemed to resent this, but then quickly relented, realizing that stopping the Death Eaters overrode her pride.

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Harry, concerned, trying to communicate his appreciation through his tone and with his eyes. "I'm quite alright, Potter. Let's hurry, now," she said in her brisk tone that could only belong to Professor McGonagall, the weakness from the impact barely even detectable in her voice, reassuring Harry that she really was alright. He would thank her properly later when there was time.

Downstairs, Mundungus, Moody and Mr. Weasley were struggling to hold off the remaining Death Eaters. The four of them went to help. With their combined efforts, they slowly started to gain ground. But soon more Death Eaters had arrived. They were outnumbered more than two to one not including those who had already fallen. Harry guessed that in total, twenty or so Death Eaters had arrived at Privet Drive. Soon, the Death Eaters pressed their advantage and were closing in around the group. To Harry's horror, he saw neighbors starting to come out of their homes to see what all of the commotion was about. Luckily, the Death Eaters were too focused on getting to Harry than anything else.

"Aw, is wittle Harry too scared to come out and pway?" Harry could start to feel his blood start to boil at the sound of that voice, that awful voice he hated everything about, "Send Sirius my love, won't you?" she mocked. "Argh!" Harry gave a feral growl. "_Stupefy! Impedimenta! Stupefy!_" But Bellatrix blocked each of his attacks with relative ease. Harry was even more determined now to take out the Death Eaters. But they were outnumbered greatly and were pushed back.

The group was overwhelmed and retreated into the house. They had been able to reduce the band of Death Eaters to around thirteen or so. Then, something completely unexpected happened. There was a loud bang and one of the Death Eaters fell to the ground, bleeding. Looking behind him Harry saw his Uncle Vernon who had peeped up from the crawlspace with a shotgun. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" he shouted almost manically. He shot another Death Eater, but was then hit with a spell in a brilliant flash of white. Well, he most likely wasn't dead then, or else Harry would have expected the flash of green. Petunia shrieked. Harry wasn't sure where Dudley was. Harry had to admit that while he detested his uncle, Vernon had shown a lot of bravery in his actions. Or stupidity. Or both.

"Harry!" It was Dumbledore. He must have just arrived. Kingley and Dawlish had also come. "Take this portkey; go to your relatives," he said, handing Harry a book. "It will take you to Hogwarts. Hurry! It will activate in twenty seconds time."

"But —"

"No, Harry! You needn't be placed in any more danger today. Go! The Portkey will not activate unless in contact with a magic user," he explained hurriedly. "You must get your relatives out of here. Ask for Poppy."

Harry wanted to stay and fight, but saw no way out of this one. If he didn't go, his relatives would also have to stay and if any of them were killed, it would be his fault. So he rushed over to the Dursleys. "Everyone grab onto this! It'll take us somewhere safe." Petunia and Dudley thankfully didn't ask any questions as to how a book could possibly lead them to safety and did as he said. Vernon was half-conscious so his willing cooperation wasn't required. Dudley made sure his father was holding on to the Portkey securely.

In all of the turmoil, Hedwig had flown downstairs to see what was happening. Harry had completely forgotten about her with all of the mayhem. She saw Harry and started to fly towards him, but she was hit with a streak of red light and fell to the floor with an indignant squawk. "Hedwig!" he shouted. He couldn't leave her here, but time was running out. "_Accio!_" he roared. The unconscious Hedwig zoomed over to him and he snatched her from the air like an overly-large, feathery snitch. About three seconds later, he felt that tug behind his navel he had come to associate with transporting via Portkey. The room was spinning. The last thing he saw was the mournful blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. _He knew_, Harry thought. _He knew all along that this was going to happen_.

Back at Voldemort's hideaway, Severus was awaiting the news regarding the outcome of this mission with the Dark Lord himself. Severus had, of course, relayed Dumbledore's arrangements to the Dark Lord as planned. To his dismay, Voldemort had decided to attack the Burrow regardless. He would attack the Burrow in the hopes of catching the Order unawares, and if Potter wasn't there, then Dumbledore would have no choice but to keep him at Privet Drive. Because of the blood magic, Voldemort believed Dumbledore might be overconfident in his protection over the boy. Then he would launch an assault on the Muggle residence.

Yaxley and Bellatrix would lead the main attack. Avery and Nott would arrive first as a sort of decoy, trying to give the impression of a casual attempt by a couple of rogue Death Eaters to reach Potter in order to earn the highest gratitude of their master. Then Bellatrix and Yaxley would arrive as soon as the other two reported the details and design of the defenses in place with at least a dozen other members. The Dark Lord did not yet wish to engage in a full battle with the Order, but he still wanted a feasible shot at killing the boy he so badly wished to exterminate upon first learning of the dreaded prophecy. His recruiting efforts were gaining him numbers quickly, but he still wanted to ensure there was sufficient support to avoid any more Death Eater losses.

Severus had no way of warning Albus under the Dark Lord's watchful eye.

Severus' job had been to select a date in which the Dursley household would be most vulnerable. Severus suspected that another reason for the Dark Lord's decision to strike before the date of his suggestion was because the Dark Lord was still leery of Severus' loyalty. That same distrust was also why he was here right now. Of course, the Dark Lord told Severus that his presence was requested only so that he could be rewarded for his labors through seeing his deeds come to fruition but Severus knew better; it was to keep him under surveillance.

Severus was not one to partake in recreational activity; however, he was not incapable of imagining more enjoyable ways to spend his Saturdays than at the side of the Dark Lord. Pettigrew was there for what it was worth. Not much, thought Severus. He was nothing but a craven and whimpering fool. Still, at the very least it meant that Severus needn't also waste his time indulging the Dark Lord's every wish, such as feeding Nagini as Wormtail now was. The Dark Lord seemed very amused indeed with Wormtail's fretting. But Severus was actually in agreement with Wormtail on this matter. Snakes did not generally bother him (it _was_ the symbol of his House, after all) but there was something particularly sinister about this snake. Perhaps it was merely because she was constantly at the heels of her master. Severus, however, would never have shown any signs of nervousness like Wormtail. The man was quite pathetic. There was another reason for Snape's loathing of Pettigrew, but best not to think of that just now. The Dark Lord needed to maintain eye contact to invade another's mind (with the exception of Potter) just as anyone else, but it was a good habit to keep one's mind clear around him.

Severus glanced at the clock hanging on the wall; he thought this would be over by now. He wondered how Potter was handling himself, Albus always seemed to overestimate the boy's abilities. He sincerely hoped that Albus was right this time. If not… He closed his eyes. He deeply desired to know what happening right now.

Harry and the Dursleys came to an abrupt halt, and Harry saw that they were in none other than Dumbledore's office. _He knew_, Harry told himself again. He wasn't sure how he felt about this revelation at the moment. On one hand, it irked him that Dumbledore once again saw fit to withhold information from him. On the other, it also meant that Dumbledore believed Harry was capable of defending himself. And Dumbledore did give him the opportunity to learn of this news; Harry had just chosen not to in order to protect someone in the Order, but who?

Harry was broken out of his train of thought upon hearing the protestations of his aunt. Oh yeah, Madame Pomfrey. His relatives were certainly not going to make things easy. It was almost ironic that Harry had brought the Dursleys to safety by transporting them out of their home and into the world of magic.

"Right, we have to get Uncle Vernon to the hospital wing. They can take care of him there."

"Where are we?" asked Dudley.

Of course, they didn't know where they were. "Hogwarts," Harry explained simply.

Looks of surprise registered on both of their faces (Vernon was unconscious). Aunt Petunia looked particularly rattled. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly agape.

"Mmmm-ugh," Vernon moaned. How were they going to move him? He supposed between he and Dudley they could —

And then it occurred to Harry that he didn't have to worry about being punished for underage magic at Hogwarts. Being with his relatives, he automatically assumed he couldn't use magic. He wasn't overly worried about his spell-work at Privet Drive, either. Death Eaters did attack the house, after all.

"_Mobilicorpus,_" he said without warning. Aunt Petunia cried out in alarm while Dudley looked on in fascination. Harry levitated his uncle's body down the spiral staircase and out of Dumbledore's office. Dudley and Petunia followed him silently. It was in this fashion that the four made their way to the hospital wing. It was almost a surreal experience to walk down the now empty hallways of Hogwarts with the Dursleys.

Hedwig still lay motionless, cradled in Harry's arm. He was sure she was only stupefied, but he was still worried for her. He wasn't sure whether or not staff remained here over the summer, maybe Madame Pomfrey returned earlier to prepare for the onslaught of students with illnesses and injuries. Either way, Harry was glad she was here. He didn't know much about healing spells.

"Oh, no. What happened?" the maternal mediwitch asked. Harry gave her a brief explanation. "Hmm, I'm not quite sure what magic it is you're describing. If I knew the exact spell, I'd be able to determine its effects and diagnose your uncle."

"It's probably dark magic."

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips at this. "Well that's certainly not what I like to hear. Maybe if we revive him he'll be able to tell us what happened. At least that way we'll know where the problems are occurring." And before Harry could warn her of the potential lack of cooperation she should expect to receive from this particular patient, she had already pointed her wand at Vernon and uttered the spell.

A look of confusion passed over his face and slowly changed to dumbfounded incredulity. "Sweetheart, are you alright? We had to come here to get away from all of the fighting. They need to you to explain what happened so they can help you get better," she said in an attempt to placate Vernon.

"Where are we?" he asked weakly. Petunia looked like she really didn't want to answer that question. Harry couldn't say that he was eager to volunteer that information, either. Luckily, they were saved by Dudley.

"We're at Harry's school," Dudley explained, clearly trying to relay this information in a manner that would keep his father as calm as possible. "You were hit with a spell and got knocked unconscious. If we hadn't come here, who knows what could have happened." Vernon said nothing, but that wasn't because he was satisfied with the situation, he was clearly injured quite badly.

In the meantime, Harry had been able to revive Hedwig. She seemed shaken, but in good health. This relieved Harry immensely. She sat upon his shoulder to rest. He would still make sure she saw Hagrid when he got the chance. Just in case.

"Now, if you could describe what happened in as much detail as you can. And please let me know if there is any pain or something that feels unusual," asked Madame Pomfrey.

Vernon shook his head. Madame Pomfrey looked confused. "You don't remember what happened? Or you can't feel anything unusual?" Again, Vernon elected to say nothing, but shook his head more vigorously. The mediwitch looked around in confusion, but none of them could explain his behavior.

And then he whispered something, but it was inaudible. "What was that, Vernon?" asked Petunia. "No magic," Harry heard.

"It wasn't magic?" Clearly this did nothing to enlighten Madame Pomfrey.

"No," said Harry, understanding what Uncle Vernon was trying to communicate, "He doesn't want to be healed with magic." At Harry's words, Vernon began to nod in affirmation.

"But Vernon, dear, who knows what that did to you? Maybe only they can fix it. Our doctors may not know what's wrong with you," uttered Petunia.

Harry was surprised. He didn't think his aunt would ever agree to have anything to do with magic, even as he noticed she still avoided saying the word. Still, her care for her husband superseded even her loathing of all things magical, Harry supposed. Seeing those you care about in peril makes people do desperate things.

Again, Vernon protested this. "No, no magic," he said.

"But — but something may be seriously damaged. You don't mess with dark magic, you don't. We have to make sure —"

"No," he said, a little more strongly this time, interrupting Madame Pomfrey's protestations, "I want a hospital." Harry could tell that she was astounded. "But they might not be able to cure you —"

"Vernon, please. I think — I think she may be right. We just have to get you better."

"Yeah, Dad. You should let them take care of this."

"No. No, no, no…"

Harry lowered his voice and spoke to the woman who had healed his own wounds countless times, "Do you think we should sedate him?"

She shook her head, turning to him so as to block the rest of the group from this conversation. "We can't know what's wrong with him unless he cooperates."

Now, Vernon was starting to get up. Was he seriously thinking of leaving? "And just where do you think you're going in this condition?" scolded Madame Pomfrey.

"Vernon, please —" but their attempts were futile.

"Does there seem to be a problem?"

Turning towards the door, a tall man with a very long white beard stood at the entrance to the hospital wing.

"This man seems to think that he can leave and get adequate treatment at a Muggle hospital," supplied Madame Pomfrey.

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Well we cannot deny him that if he so desires it."

All five of them looked at Dumbledore in surprise.

"I will have it arranged for you to be transferred to the hospital of your choice. But first, I must ask you for your patience. If you could wait in the room outside and to the left…"

The three Dursleys made their way out, supporting Vernon as best they could.

"You cannot allow him to leave here without being properly attended to!" protested Madame Pomfrey.

"Relax, Poppy. I will, of course, ensure he receives the best medical care he needs. I will make certain to have Healers on hand to deal with the situation."

"But —"

"Vernon Dursley will just be unaware that we are doing so," he added.

"Oh, well, you could've explained _that_ earlier," she grumbled half-heartedly, but seeming pleased that Vernon would receive appropriate medical attention.

"As long as our Healers can assume a Muggle appearance and surreptitiously practice their magic, I foresee no problems." Oh, now Harry understood. Dumbledore would send Healers pretending to be Muggles to tend to Uncle Vernon. He wondered if Dumbledore would have his Healers confound some of the nurses or disguise themselves as visitors. Of course, they'd need to be dressed appropriately for Vernon to buy the ruse… Harry saw that Dumbledore was gazing something just behind him. He turned around to see his Aunt Petunia standing at the door. Apparently, she had heard everything. He wasn't sure how she would react to this news. There was a tense silence, but finally she said, "You're sure he will be looked after?"

"I give you my word," replied Dumbledore.

"And you'll make sure he doesn't find out," she admonished.

"Vernon needs to be looked at by a professional in magical medicine. I believe I know of the spell that was used, and I will inform the Healers. Without magical assistance, his condition will only worsen."

Petunia nodded her consent and left the room.

"We should get your uncle to the 'hospital'," observed Dumbledore. "I know you must have questions, Harry. And you deserve answers. But I must also ask for your patience on this matter as well. I will come speak to you at greater length hopefully sometime within the next couple of days." Harry nodded his understanding.

Walking down the stairs and out to the main entrance to Hogwarts. Dudley was gazing openly at everything in amazement: at the animated portraits, at the moving staircases, and everything Harry had told him about earlier. Even amid his concern for his father, he couldn't help but gather his surroundings. Petunia was also staring in wonder, and trying but failing to hide it.

When they reached the doors, Dumbledore turned to Harry. "I will escort your family to the hospital. You can wait in my office if you wish. The password is 'fizzing whizbee'."

Harry was not expecting this; he thought he would be going with the Dursleys. Surely Voldemort would never anticipate this and plan to attack a Muggle hospital. He wanted to make sure his uncle would be alright. He wasn't fond of him and probably never would be, but he would feel guilty if his uncle was hurt badly on his account, or worse. Vernon's earlier accusation was ringing in his ears: _You put my family in danger_. And he wanted his uncle to be alright more for Dudley's sake than anyone else's. His Uncle Vernon may be a cruel man at times, but he loved and cared deeply for his family, and no one deserved to lose a loved one.

"You can visit them later, but not now," said Dumbledore apologetically.

Harry again nodded his understanding. Petunia was at Vernon's side. Harry didn't know what to say, but shared a meaningful glance with Dudley.

He watched Dumbledore walk the Dursleys down the path to the main gates for a while then made his way back up to Dumbledore's office. Uncle Vernon will be fine he told himself, his guilt threatening to consume him.

He sat in the chair that he normally would sit in whenever he met with Dumbledore, but found he couldn't keep still. He walked around, looking at the many trinkets in the room (he saw that Dumbledore had seemed to repair the damage he had done during his last visit). And then settled by petting Fawkes. Something about the bird had a calming effect on Harry. It was in this position that Dumbledore found Harry when he returned.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Harry asked.

"I'm sure he will be fine, Harry," Dumbledore reassured him. "It was not your fault," he added. Harry knew this, but he wasn't sure that this made him feel any better.

"After all of this excitement, you must be tired. I think now would be a good time for us to get you to where you'll be staying."

Come to think of it, Harry hadn't even contemplated what would happen to him now.

"I am currently pressed for time, but I will escort you to Grimmauld Place, which is now functioning as Headquarters for the Order. Again, I am deeply sorry that we cannot talk now, I am sorry for many things. Please, find it within yourself to be patient with me, Harry. When I come to visit you, you may ask all that your heart desires."

Harry wasn't quite sure of what to say. Everything was happening so fast.

"Are you ready to depart?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then let us be off" [2].

Snape was presently residing in one of the study rooms, not wanting to spend every waking moment with his _master_. But Wormtail had found him, telling him that the Dark Lord required his presence.

He walked in to see Bellatrix doing her best to seduce the Dark Lord. How anyone could ever feel attraction for such a monster, Severus had no idea. It left a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe she had a fetish for men without noses. _Well, at any rate that means I should be safer than almost everyone_. It was common knowledge that Lord Voldemort did not _feel_. Her attempts were futile. The Dark Lord only indulged her because it gave him power. He would toy with her to amuse himself, nothing more. Everyone knew this, including Bellatrix. Yet she still persisted because she found immense satisfaction even with an imaginary love affair with the Dark Lord. The very idea made Severus want to take a very long shower.

"— admit that I am not happy, but you are right, the Carrows were foolish to attempt such a thing. It has cost me some of my followers, after I have just managed to break them out. I am most displeased with their behavior. They will suffer for it." Bellatrix looked very excited about this prospect indeed. _Who am I kidding? They're perfect for each other_, thought Snape with disgust.

"Ah, Severus. Good, you are here. Come join us. Bella was just telling me about the mission." Bellatrix shot him a look of venom. Severus decided not to react to that.

"And you say Avery and Nott were captured, yet _again_?" the Dark Lord continued, speaking to Bellatrix this time.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Fools," he whispered menacingly. "They should be glad they are protected in Azkaban from my wrath!" His anger had a rousing effect on Bellatrix.

"Dolohov would have been taken, too, if I hadn't managed to revive him. Mulciber and Travers were supposed to be covering Lucius, but once Dumbledore showed up they Apparated away, as many others did. They left him to fend for himself unawares, the cowards." _Ah, so Lucius was taken prisoner once again_. "Only Yaxley, Rowle, and I were left. We had no choice but to return. We were vastly outnumbered by then. Rodolphus was taken, as well." _As if she's really upset_, thought Snape.

"And why do you believe they fled, Bellatrix?"

"Well, Dumbledore and his group were beginning to gain the upper hand. And Dumbledore got Potter out of there by that time. Probably to Hogwarts."

"Do you think the Order knew of our attack in advance?" It took all Snape had not to tense up, if Bellatrix believed that Dumbledore received prior knowledge, it would not be good for him. Of course, Bellatrix wouldn't mind, but she also couldn't lie to her beloved master. It also occurred to Severus that Bellatrix did not know that the information to give this mission the go-ahead was supplied by the Potions Master, himself. If so, then she would surely say whatever she could to end him.

"I don't believe so, my Lord. They always have people guarding over that wretched brat. There was nothing unexpected in their reaction."

"Good. Now I understand that most of this was not by your making, Bella," began Voldemort smoothly, "but I placed you in charge, so you do hold some responsibility for this failure."

"Of course, my Lord. I — I understand, my Lord. I will accept any punishment you desire to —"

But her words were cut short by her own screams. Voldemort had cast the Cruciatus curse upon her. After a while he lifted the curse saying, "I believe that is a sufficient reminder. You may take your leave."

Even after he put her through that torture, she still seemed reluctant to leave his side. Her madness was unfathomable. It was almost enough to make Severus pity her. _Almost_.

But Potter was safe and it did not sound as though any of the Order was hurt and that was something. It had all turned out better than Severus could have hoped.

"You may leave also, Severus. There is nothing more to discuss. The mission did not go as planned, but that is not entirely surprising."

"Yes, my Lord," Severus bowed, and finally made to leave this dreaded place.

Severus knew the Dark Lord had never planned on discussing anything with him, Voldemort just wanted him close by in the event that Bellatrix had suspected Dumbledore had learned of the attack, which could only be learned through Snape. But his position as spy was safe… for now.

Meanwhile, Harry and Dumbledore had arrived at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry didn't think he would be coming back here so soon. He approached the dwelling in slight trepidation. All of the repressed feelings associated with Sirius' death were beginning to resurface: anger, grief, despair.

"You will also find that your friends are here," said Dumbledore. This made Harry feel considerably better.

"I will call around midafternoon, if all goes according to plan." The old wizard looked like he wanted to say something more, but then he hesitated and simply said, "Until our next meeting," and vanished into thin air, leaving Harry behind with a feeling of déjà vu.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 6:

Harry returns to the place he never wished to see again. He is glad to see his friends, but he feels trapped at the house where Sirius once lived, haunted by the memory of his late godfather. Additionally, Harry finally confronts Hermione with a question he has been burning to ask her. He heavily contemplates his relationship with Dumbledore and works to discover the mysterious member of the Order. Meanwhile, another young wizard is also feeling rather glum.

_Try as he might, Harry couldn't stop thinking about the prophecy. Harry knew that he and Voldemort were linked and that they would most likely confront each other in the future, but still, to have it in the form of a legitimate prophecy… Sure he had faced Voldemort and survived a fair share of times. But most of that had been luck, and he was only sixteen. To have the weight of the whole of the Wizarding world on his shoulders was frightening. And if the prophecy was true, he was the only person who could defeat Voldemort. If he failed… And what about this 'power' that the prophecy spoke of? Harry still had a hard time believing it was love. There were a lot of people who had the capacity to love. Almost everyone. Virtually everyone except for Voldemort._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Not technically true, I know. But Voldemort is their leader, and in general, this group of people was responsible for the death of Harry's parents.

[2] I just realized writing chapter six, I completely forget about Hedwig. I certainly am not inclined to believe that Dumbledore and Harry would force Hedwig to fly all the way to Grimmauld Place. That would just be cruel, particularly after the ordeal she had just been through not too long before. Complete oversight. In case you're wondering, Hedwig never left her position on Harry's shoulder and accompanied him to Grimmauld Place. It just seems like a strange thing to mention in the flow of the story arc.

Oh, and I was just thinking, re-reading this, it seems funny that Uncle Vernon is upset with Harry for saying 'magic' instead of a curse word. But the Dursleys are ridiculous that way.

By the way, my character John Bright, I imagine a five-ten years younger Liam Neeson. I love him as an actor. For a more full list of who I would cast in Harry Potter, see my profile. I have a link attached to my ideal cast. Many of the people are the same, but not all. I would actually love it if some of you gave me some suggestions.

A/N:

So, about that writer's block… I was okay for the first couple of pages, and then it really started to hit me and was taking me days to write only a few paragraphs. Lots of homework wasn't really helping either. It took me about a month to write the first three chapters and it's taken me almost double that to write this chapter and chapter four. And sorry if you didn't like all of the intercutting near the end. Do you guys like it when I do that, or not? I must also admit that writing this chapter was a slow process. I just trudged through it and never really got into the flow of writing. Hopefully the story is still relatively well-written, but I'm not sure. It's hard to look at it when it's your own writing. Once the story started picking up things got better, but man, I have a feeling (as the next chapter has less happening in it) the next chapter will also be a long slog. Harry should be returning to Hogwarts in chapter eight, and the story will probably be much more eventful and easy to write. If Rowling's books were anything to go by, making the summer holidays interesting was a lot more work than it was at Hogwarts (I mean, it _is_ Hogwarts after all). I certainly feel like I've lost some momentum since the first three chapters. But I think the battle at Privet Drive did revive things a smidge (it was particularly enjoyable to write that bit about McGonagall). I beg you to stick with this story, and I promise things will get better when we arrive at Hogwarts!

P.S. I've also noticed that I've written more than 50,000 words, which is crazy. If I continue at this pace, this story will be approximately 200,000 words long! (I plan to write 24 chapters). That's about the same length as Deathly Hallows. I never fathomed I would be able to write that much. But we'll see how things go. I hope that doesn't discourage anyone from reading this. It is ridiculously long.

P.P.S. I'm also noticing that I've had a lack of footnotes of late (scratch that, I do have one here). Not that that's a bad thing. I actually think it's a good thing. I just hope I'm not becoming lazy. Finals are coming up for me as I write this, and I sincerely hope the strain isn't showing up in my work.

Until then,

Signing off,

fanster


	7. Grim Impressions

Another shout-out to **R3HAB**, the fourth person to review my story.

Also, I'm terribly sorry for forgetting to update yesterday. My mistake.

DISCLAIMER: I solemnly swear that I in no way wish to imply that I created the characters of _Harry Potter_, nor its settings or plot. Those are all J.K. Rowling's (as if you didn't know that already). As a warning, some of the dialogue from Mrs. Weasley talking about Arthur's promotion was taken from the _Half-Blood Prince_.

Just to let you guys know, this chapter is going to be fairly short compared to the last couple of chapters, but not much shorter than what you should probably expect the average length of these chapters to be. Actually looking at it, this length probably is close to the average length of a chapter.

UPDATE: Sorry, that is a lie. It was the average length when I wrote this chapter, but now I'm writing Chapter 19, and most chapters are actually longer than this one.

* * *

Chapter 6

Grim Impressions

The door shut behind Harry with a menacing clang. Taking care not to wake the portrait of Sirius' mother, Harry made his way down to the kitchens with Hedwig still perched on his shoulder [1]. She had not enjoyed Apparition one bit. She seemed to be doing a lot better, he'd just have to see how she was doing each day.

He didn't want to be back at Grimmauld Place. It was being used as Headquarters as of right now and he had no desire to see any of the Order members that would surely be coming in and out of the house, even if he liked many of them. He didn't want to encounter the endless sympathetic glances of pity or listen to Moody remind him that he hadn't been exercising constant vigilance at the time (which was obviously a motto of his, even though Harry had first learned of it through the impostor Crouch). He definitely didn't want to listen to Snape's snide comments and insinuations. He didn't think he could even tolerate the callous man's mere presence. He sighed; he couldn't wait until school started.

He walked past the mounted elf heads in the hallway and descended the stairs to the basement level. As expected, he found Mrs. Weasley upon reaching the kitchen. No doubt she knew he was coming over and decided that he must need to be fed. It was now around 3 o'clock in the afternoon. When she spotted him she greeted him by enveloping him in a giant hug. "Oh, Harry. Thank goodness you're alright." Harry nodded, "I'm just glad you guys are alright. How bad did they damage the Burrow?"

"Oh, well, it took a fair bit of damage, but we'll manage. And as you said, everyone came out safely which is all that matters." Harry agreed, but still felt terrible that the Weasleys were displaced from their home in such a manner.

"Are you hungry, Harry dear?" Now that she mentioned it, he was quite hungry. "Yeah, actually," he replied. "What would you like, dear?" she asked kindly.

"Oh, anything is fine. Really," he insisted. And it was true, her cooking was excellent and he wasn't very choosy. "So, you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?" she asked, now bustling about in preparing Harry's meal. There seemed to be some leftovers that the others had eaten and she was magically reheating it.

"Well, kind of," Harry said noncommittally.

"Yes, he taught Arthur and me. Did you like him?" she asked, placing the plate in front of him.

"Er, he was alright," he hesitated, as he munched happily on his sausage and onion sandwich, feeding bits of it to Hedwig. This was the closest to normality he had felt all day.

"I know what you mean," agreed Mrs. Weasley, nodding shrewdly. "He can be quite charming when he wants to be, but Arthur was never his biggest fan. The Ministry is littered with Slughorn's old favorites, but he never seemed to take much interest in Arthur. I suppose Slughorn didn't imagine him to be much of a highflyer. Well, that just goes to show even Slughorn has slips in judgment. I don't know whether or not Ron's told you in any of his letters — it's only just happened — but Arthur's been promoted!"

It could not have been clearer that Mrs. Weasley had been bursting to mention this. "That's fantastic!" he replied enthusiastically.

"It rather is, isn't it?" beamed Mrs. Weasley. "Since Scrimgeour has become Minister, he has set up several new offices in response to the current situation. Arthur is heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big job; he's got ten people reporting to him now!"

"What do they do exactly?"

"Well, in all of the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have begun to crop up for sale everywhere — things that are advertised to protect against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine that sort of thing; most of the so-called protective items aren't authentic and spring from people like Mundungus trying to take advantage of how frightened everyone is. But every now and again something really nasty turns up. Just the other day Arthur had to confiscate a box of Sneakoscopes that were most certainly planted by a Death Eater. It's all very important, but he still seems to miss tinkering around with spark plugs and toasters, Muggle objects and all the like." Mrs. Weasley ended her speech with a stern look, as if it had been Harry suggesting that it was natural to miss spark plugs.

"He won't be back until later tonight," she said, turning to look at the large clock Harry immediately recognized. It was the one with nine hands, indicating the location of each family member. Apparently, Mrs. Weasley had taken to carrying it around the house with her. Every single one of the hands was now pointing to 'mortal peril.'

"It's been like that for a while now," stated Mrs. Weasley in an unconvincingly casual voice. "I suppose everyone is in mortal danger now, what with You-Know-Who out in the open."

"Yeah, I expect that would be the case for everyone," Harry tried to reassure her. "So who else is staying here?" he asked, searching for a less bleak topic.

"Well, obviously Ron and Ginny are here, and Arthur when he's not working. Hermione arrived yesterday. Remus sometimes stays here, but he's usually out on Order business. Tonks will drop by now and again. And of course, the Fred and George aren't here," she listed.

"Why, where are they?"

"Oh, they're up in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their shop. They're always so busy. I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a flair for business! They're probably one of the only shops that aren't losing customers during this time.

"Well, that's great," Harry was glad that Mrs. Weasley was finally agreeable with the twins' decision. Especially seeing as he was the one responsible for their initial funds to set it up, easing his guilt somewhat.

Harry was beginning to feel much more at home here with his favorite family. But there were still the pervasive reminders of Sirius' absence. He thought he would be getting used to it, but he would be taken by surprise at times. Seemingly innocuous objects would remind Harry of Sirius: the bark of a dog, a man with long hair and other little things of the sort. He would be flooding with memories of Sirius, and even now it seemed as those were centuries ago, from another life. And then the casual reference to Sirius' death by Slughorn, and Uncle Vernon's reaction, _"He's dead, his godfather?"_…

"… not sure where Ron and Hermione are, but they should be somewhere around here. Probably in the drawing room," Mrs. Weasley told Harry. His thoughts were drifting already. "Oh, okay. I guess I'll go look for them then," he replied. "Oh, and you'll be staying in the same room with Ron again. Some of the rooms still aren't suitable be staying in yet," Mrs. Weasley added. He nodded his understanding and thanked her for the meal, leaving the kitchen to find his two best friends. Hedwig took off and no doubt went to find rest in the bedroom Harry would be staying in.

It turned out that Mrs. Weasley was right and it was in the drawing room that he found Ron and Hermione. "Oh, Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, wrapping him in a hug much like Mrs. Weasley had earlier, "We were so worried about you." "We're glad you made it in one piece," said Ron, coming over and clapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry looked at Ron sympathetically, "Ron, I'm sorry about the Bur —"

"It's not your fault, mate," Ron interjected meaningfully. "But don't worry; we'll get the bastards who did it." Harry nodded, not really knowing what to say.

They both wanted an account of the events at Privet Drive from Harry. So he told them about what happened. And when he got to the part about McGonagall attacking the Death Eater as a cat, Hermione looked slightly terrified, while Ron seemed astounded. But they were both impressed and appreciative of her actions. They chatted and visited for a while until Mrs. Weasley called them down for supper. Since Harry had eaten not long before he went to his bedroom and decided to settle in. His friends suggested he come down with them even though he wouldn't be eating, but Harry had insisted on unpacking now so he wouldn't have to do it later. Truth be told, he was a bit overwhelmed right now, being back at Grimmauld Place. A kaleidoscope of emotions was flying at him out of nowhere.

He felt a bit like he did at times during his fifth year, when he would be alone and long for his friends, but then be surrounded by people and want nothing more than to get away from it all. He didn't know why he felt this way. But he felt in some way separate from everybody else. Not because of who he was, but because he was somehow being distanced from everyone he cared about by some inescapable force. He supposed these feelings were amplified by Sirius' death. But Harry knew he couldn't shut and lock himself away from everyone, he just needed some time alone for the moment to collect himself. So he lay down and stretched himself out on the bed.

Harry found that all of his belongings were stowed at the foot of his bed. Dumbledore must have dropped them off here. Dumbledore. Harry still wasn't sure how he felt about the whole scenario regarding his Headmaster. He was mostly surprised at the elderly wizard's actions than anything else. He wasn't particularly mad. Though, he doubted whether Hermione or even Ron would feel the same way. Best not to mention this to them until he cleared things up with Dumbledore first.

Dumbledore had also advised Harry to tell his best friends about the prophecy. He wasn't sure when he was going to tell them. He knew they would be scared for him and he didn't want to worry them, but he knew that Ron and Hermione would want to know about this. He would want to know if it was one of his friends in his position. And deep down, Harry had to admit would be nice to be able to lift some of the burden off of himself and be able to confide in the two people he was closest to.

Try as he might, Harry couldn't stop thinking about the prophecy. Harry knew that he and Voldemort were linked and that they would most likely confront each other in the future, but still, to have it in the form of a legitimate prophecy… Sure he had faced Voldemort and survived a fair share of times. But most of that had been luck, and he was only sixteen. To have the weight of the whole of the Wizarding world on his shoulders was frightening. And if the prophecy was true, he was the only person who could defeat Voldemort. If he failed… And what about this 'power' that the prophecy spoke of? Harry still had a hard time believing it was love. There were a lot of people who had the capacity to love. Almost everyone. Virtually everyone except for Voldemort.

He sighed. A string of thoughts like these would revolve around his head in endless tracks during the summer. He would always ask the same questions, not always in the exact same way, but he would never find any answers. Things would get better once school started, he reasoned. He would have plenty of things to keep him busy there and the atmosphere within Hogwarts would surely go a long way towards cheering him up.

Hedwig flew over and landed in front of Harry. He distracted himself by running his fingers through her plumage. What was so comforting about pets? He lay there like that for some time, but his thoughts kept drifting toward his current predicament and other random subjects. The prophecy. Voldemort. Sirius. Dumbledore. Why hadn't Dumbledore warned him? How would Harry's knowledge endanger a member of the Order? Unless… "Harry?" he heard a soft voice utter. He looked up; it was Hermione. "Yeah?" he replied by way of invitation. "May I come in?" she asked anyways. "Of course you can," said Harry sitting up a little bit and patting a spot next to him on the bed. She came in and sat down at the indicated spot. "Ron's still eating." Harry nodded his acknowledgement.

"How are you?" she asked tentatively after a while, conveying with her tone of voice that he didn't have to speak about this if he didn't want to. "I'm a little tense being back here," he said truthfully. "It's just — a lot of times I'll be fine, and then something will remind me of him. It'll just hit me out of nowhere. And being back here, it just makes everything worse." Hermione looked on in concern and compassion. "I'm sorry, Harry. I know I can't say anything that will make things better. I can't possibly imagine what it is you're going through. I wish things could be different. If you ever want to talk to someone, just tell me." "I know, Hermione," spoke Harry, "But you don't have to say anything or be sorry. It helps with you just being here." And it did. Harry still felt isolated, but having Hermione here with him now made him feel immensely better.

"I'll always be here for you, Harry."

Harry was deeply affected by this. He always knew his friends would stand behind him, but that didn't lessen the warmth he felt at Hermione's words. He found that there were no words he could find to adequately describe how much he appreciated Hermione's unwavering loyalty and companionship. So he made to hug her instead. They embraced for a while, and afterwards, Hermione also lay down next to Harry instead of perching precariously on the edge as she had been before. He wasn't usually this emotional, but everything seemed muddled and unsettled at the moment, and the only constant were his friends. Hermione seemed to understand this and didn't show as much surprise at Harry's actions. Normally, he'd have probably been embarrassed, but now, he found that it was just nice to be with someone who truly cared for him.

It was quite pleasant, just lying there like there was not a care in the world, even if it wasn't true; even if they were just pretending for a while. "Thanks, Hermione," he finally voiced. She gave him a look that clearly said there was no need for him to thank her.

Now that he had Hermione alone, he figured it was the perfect time to ask her something that had been on his mind. "Hey, Hermione?" he asked. "Mm-yeah?" she replied, her eyes closed in relaxation. "There's been something I've been wanting to ask you." Hermione sat up a little and turned towards Harry, clearly understanding that he was about to ask something important.

"Back at Diagon Alley, when I was talking about not remembering my vision, you looked like you were going to say something, but then you seemed to change your mind and said there was nothing we could do," he started, hoping Hermione wouldn't feign ignorance and explain herself.

"Well, yes. I did have an idea." She paused.

Harry arched his eyebrows, indicating she should continue.

"But I don't think you're going to like it. And Ron definitely won't like it."

Harry was intrigued. What could this be about?

"If you did have a vision, it's in your head somewhere, you just aren't aware of it," started Hermione hesitantly. "Well, I think there's a way you might be able to view this vision." She paused again. "And?" urged Harry, "What?"

"I think someone could extract the memory by searching your mind." Hermione didn't elaborate any further. Harry wasn't quite sure why she was being so vague and tentative. "Get someone to read my mind?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Hermione. "Well, search through your memories, specifically trying to find your vision."

"So what would this be, some kind of hypnosis?" Harry had heard of using this technique to recover details of memories.

"Not exactly, no," she said as she chewed her bottom lip, a habit he knew Hermione was prone to exhibit when nervous.

And then it hit Harry. Hermione was referring to Legilimency, and she was hesitating to tell him this because the only people he knew who possessed this power were Voldemort, and Snape… Obviously, one of these choices was not a viable option. But Harry still wasn't sure which one he preferred. At least with Voldemort, Harry could be openly hostile. His distaste must have shown on his face, for Hermione said, "Before you say anything, I really think that you could recover the contents of this vision you had. And isn't that more important than your resentment towards Snape?"

Harry knew it made sense in his mind, but he didn't want Snape inside of his mind anymore. He hated their little sessions together that didn't teach him anything (he tried to ignore the fact that part of it was his fault, it just made him feel more responsible for Sirius' death). Plus, he still wasn't sure if he trusted Snape. "No, I don't want him in my head. How do we even know he's on our side?"

"Harry —"

"Besides, he wouldn't want to help me. He'd just say no."

"You don't know that, Harry!" argued Hermione. "I know you don't like him, but Dumbledore trusts him, so I do too. If you tell him why you need to know this, he may decide to help you because it will help us in the war. You just need to put your stubborn pride aside and ask him for help! This isn't about you and Snape, it's about beating Voldemort. I would think you of all people would want to do everything possible to ensure his defeat." Her passion took Harry aback a little. He hadn't expected such an outburst of emotion from Hermione. He thought she'd try to reason with him by intricately explaining the logic behind her idea.

Harry's anger abated as he listened to Hermione's words. "You're right, Hermione. I shouldn't be so selfish. I may not like it, but I can stomach it if it means figuring out how to beat Voldemort."

Hermione smiled. "I knew you'd see it my way."

Harry smiled back.

"Oh, there you guys are."

It was Ron. "Hey," said Hermione, "We were waiting for you," she said, sliding off the bed.

"Yeah," responded Ron. "So…" he said looking around, "not much to do around this place. Too bad we're in a Muggle neighborhood, can't even go out for a bit of Quidditch." Harry noticed that Hermione was fighting the instinct to roll her eyes.

Harry was barely listening. He could feel the mounting pressure to reveal his newfound knowledge regarding the prophecy. Well, now was as good a time as any.

"Wait." They both looked at him. He took a deep, steadying breath. "I have something to tell you guys."

That got their attention. How was he supposed to go about this? "You know all those articles that have been written about me?" They both nodded, waiting on bated breath. "Well," _here it goes_, he thought, "they're true." Silence suffused the room. And then…

"Oh my goodness, Harry. Harry! Oh — well, we weren't sure — but we heard the rumors of course and, naturally, we wondered — but we didn't want to pester you with questions either. But Harry, oh Harry!" Hermione voiced. She was clearly horrified and shocked. Ron looked dumbfounded, his mouth agape. "Wow, mate. That's just — wow."

Hermione was now rambling to herself, pacing and gripping her hands in her hair in anxiety. Their reactions were worse than Harry anticipated. He thought they would at least be prepared for this possibility if they had indeed suspected it from what they read in the _Prophet_.

"Hey, guys. Guys!" they finally stopped and gave Harry their full attention. He let out a sigh of relief at this. "It's not like I'm really in anymore danger than I have been. Voldemort's always been after me." "But —" Hermione intervened, but Harry silenced her with a stare. "And he doesn't know the full contents of the prophecy. The prophecy was made to Dumbledore, he showed me in his Pensieve, at the end of last year," he said in answer to Hermione's unspoken question.

Hermione was biting her lip again. Ron still had that same thunderstruck look plastered onto his face. They both were still clearly worried. He was certain he couldn't alleviate their concern completely; they would just have to get used to it, much like he had after the initial shock.

Finally, Hermione spoke, although with a slight quiver in her voice, "What exactly did the prophecy say, Harry?"

"It said, '_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_…'" he recited. He remembered the words vividly and had reflected upon them countless times over the course of the summer.

Now, instead of panicking, they were both awed into complete silence.

"Dumbledore kept himself from telling me about this earlier. He said he didn't want to place anymore burden on my shoulders when I was young. He said he came to care more about my happiness than telling me the truth, and that his emotions overweighed what his mind was telling him to do," he explained solemnly. _I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act_, surfaced the words spoken to him by Albus Dumbledore at the end of last year.

"And the prophecy clearly specified that it concerned you?" asked Hermione.

"Well, actually, I guess at the time, it could have referred to Neville, too."

"Neville?" they both repeated, stunned. The look on their faces was so comical, that had this subject matter not been so serious, he would have laughed.

"Yes, because he was born around the same time as me and his parents faced Voldemort three times," he stated darkly, remembering the fate of the Longbottoms with repulsion. "But Dumbledore said that Voldemort clearly 'marked me as his equal', so it's definitely me. Dumbledore figures that even though Voldemort promotes blood purity, he picked me because I'm a Half-Blood, like him."

"That's why he attacked you as a baby."

"Exactly. Apparently he only heard a bit of the beginning," he said, referring to the prophecy, "but enough to get the gist of it."

"Oh, Harry," spoke Hermione again in a soft voice, "Why didn't you tell us?" Sympathy was evident on her face.

"You know why. It's not that I don't trust you guys, I just didn't want you worry you, or scare you… Actually, it was Dumbledore who convinced me to tell you both."

"Well, I think Dumbledore is right. We want you to confide things like this to us. We're going to worry no matter what. But you shouldn't keep this to yourself."

"Yeah, we're you're best friends, Harry. We wanna know what's going on with you. We're here to help you," said Ron in earnest, speaking up for the first time since Harry told them the contents of the prophecy.

"Well, I do feel better now that I've told you," responded Harry. And it was true. He did. He felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. He didn't like keeping his friends in the dark. He didn't like having to be secretive and distant. "But I think I had to come to terms with it myself first."

They both nodded, seeming to understand, but clearly still felt that he could have told them before. Not because of their need for information, he knew, but because they didn't want him to suffer alone.

"You'll do it, Harry. You'll defeat Voldemort. I just know you will," declared Hermione.

"Of course he will. I mean, come on. How many times have you faced him and got the best of him now? You're not Harry Potter for nothing," added Ron, also trying to bring some levity to the situation and lighten the mood a bit. It was what he did best.

Harry knew they were still anxious and a little frightened and that they were putting on a brave face for him, for which he was very grateful.

"Do you know what the 'power the Dark Lord knows not' refers to?" questioned Hermione having calmed down somewhat.

"Dumbledore thinks it means love," answered Harry with some skepticism. He wasn't entirely sure he agreed with Dumbledore on this matter.

"What?" asked Ron, his tone conveying the disbelief that Harry felt himself, "How does he figure that? I mean, I know he's a bit off his rocker, but it's gotta be someth —"

"Love is a very strong and ancient form of magic, Ron," interrupted Hermione, throwing the red-head a look of irritation. "How do you know that can't be it?"

"I'm just saying —"

"What? That you know better than Albus Dumbledore!"

This discussion was not mollifying Harry's own misgivings, such as they were, in the slightest. Doubt ever gnawed at the back of his mind.

"Harry, are you alright?" asked Hermione.

They had stopped arguing. He must have been zoning out, distracted by his thoughts. "Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, trying to look nonchalant. He was sure his friends weren't buying it, but thankfully, neither of them pressed him further.

"Well," said Hermione, standing up, "If there's anything you want to talk about, anything at all, we're here for you, Harry."

"She's right," said Ron, also standing up behind her and placing a hand on her shoulder as if to confirm it. Harry appreciated the gesture more than he could say, "Thanks," he attempted anyway.

"We don't need your thanks, we just don't want you to hesitate to tell us anything."

Harry also stood. Now what? For now, he just wanted to take his mind off of everything for a while. His head was beginning to swim with the many thoughts and anxieties bombarding his brain, overwhelming him. Ron seemed to sense this and suggested a game of Wizard's Chess.

"Gobstones," Harry replied, "That way I actually have a chance at beating you."

"Fair enough," Ron said good-naturedly. "Hermione, you in?"

She seemed lost in thought. "I'll join you in a bit, but first, I have something I need to take care of," she answered, and with that made to leave the room.

"Alright, then," Ron said, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. His questioning eyes found Harry's. "What do you suppose that was all about?"

"I have no idea," he answered truthfully.

"Ha, she's probably looking to get a head start on classes already," hypothesized Ron, shaking his head.

"Yeah, maybe," replied Harry, although he wasn't so sure that was the case. He sincerely hoped it wasn't because of his big revelation. He didn't want her fretting over him. But knowing Hermione, she was probably trying to find a solution in methodical, typical Hermione fashion. Maybe looking up a few books.

They made their way downstairs to the main living room. Ginny was there. "What are you two up to? And where's Hermione?" she asked upon seeing the pair of them.

"Don't know about Hermione, but _we're_ going to have a game of Gobstones," Ron answered.

"Care to join us?" inquired Harry.

"Sure, why not?" replied Ginny.

They spent an enjoyable time playing Gobstones, Exploding Snap, and chatting. Ginny recounted a particularly amusing story involving Fred and George at the shop. Ron had even convinced Harry to play a game of Wizard's Chess. He and Ginny had even teamed up to try and best Ron, but to no avail. But Harry didn't mind losing.

In the back of his mind, though, he was wondering what Hermione was up to. It had been a couple of hours, yet she still hadn't made an appearance. Ron must have been thinking along the same lines for he said, "Where is she? I thought she was only going to be a little while!" Harry shrugged his shoulders in response.

"I saw in the _Prophet_ that Lucius Malfoy was one of the Death Eaters caught," voiced Ginny, the conversation taking a more serious turn. Harry nodded and gave her a quick review over what transpired at Privet Drive.

Ron scoffed, "He deserves it. He's a right bastard."

"Ronald Weasley!" scolded his mother, having just entered the room.

"Well he is!" Ron defended.

"Who is?" asked his mother, unimpressed.

"Lucius Malfoy." Her expression darkened. "Yes, he is," she agreed, surprising Harry. He had rarely, if ever heard her express such thoughts. "I was just coming to tell you lot that I've just finished with the pies."

"Excellent," said Ron, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

Harry and Ginny both laughed.

"What?"

"Nothing gets you excited quite like food, does it?" posed Ginny.

"Where's Hermione?" asked Mrs. Weasley, obviously noticing her absence. Harry felt that it was quickly becoming the catchphrase of the day. He and Ron shared a glance. "We don't know," said Ron.

Once she and Ginny departed for the kitchen Ron turned to Harry, "What do you reckon she's up to?"

"Who knows?"

Upon entering the kitchen, they discovered that Mr. Weasley had returned from work.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Mr. Weasley. How was work?"

He gave a short laugh, "That scuffle at your place sure caused quite the riot, and a lot of trouble for the Ministry. Thankfully, none of the Muggles were harmed, but we had to perform a lot of complicated memory charms and do some damage control — make sure that those present told no one else about what happened and everything. But I wasn't the one attacked," (well, not this time, Harry corrected in his mind, thinking of how this conversation could be taking place at the Burrow) "What about you? I heard about your uncle," he solicited somberly.

"What happened?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"He was hit in the crossfire. He'll probably be fine, but he's refusing magical treatment." She clucked her tongue in apparent disapproval.

Mr. Weasley shook his head, "Muggles. They're quite ingenious, but Dark Magic isn't something you should mess around with. Well, I hope he'll be alright."

Harry gave an ambiguous shrug. He hadn't gotten around to thinking about that much. Not that he wanted anything bad to happen to his uncle, but he wasn't that concerned. He'd probably be fine. It also goes without saying that Vernon was not very high on the list of people he cared about. Maybe he'd go visit them when Dumbledore came over, whenever that would be.

"What about the Death Eaters, Dad, did you hear anything about that? Have the Aurors detained them? What are they going to do with them?" Ron asked his father.

He sighed. "Oh yes, that was the big topic at the Ministry today. With the dementors gone, and the Auror's stretched thin — what with all of the havoc You-Know-Who is wreaking — word is that Scrimgeour might be considering more drastic measures."

"Like what?" asked Harry, curious.

"I'm not quite sure," he responded gravely, "but it doesn't take a whole lot of imagination to guess what."

Surely that didn't mean executing them. The Dementor's Kiss was no longer an option, and they probably deserved it, but he didn't know what to make of it. It seemed pretty extreme.

They continued to discuss more routine affairs over their pie and cream. It was quite delicious, to no one's surprise. Harry particularly enjoyed the strawberry-rhubarb [2]. "You'll be coming to the wedding of course, won't you Harry?" inquired Mr. Weasley.

"Wedding?" asked Harry. Mr. Weasley looked at Mrs. Weasley, eyes slightly questioning.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Bill and Fleur are getting married. Next summer," said Ron.

"Really?" he was surprised by this information, and he couldn't help but notice that the two women didn't look particularly over-joyed.

"Yup, and Mum and Ginny aren't too chuffed about it, if you haven't noticed," added Ron.

Mr. Weasley gave Ron a warning glance and Mrs. Weasley objected, "It's just too soon, that's all."

"But they've known each other for a year now!" Ron exclaimed.

"Well, that's not very long! It's all because of the uncertainty with You-Know-Who back. People are afraid they might not get the chance and afraid they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing into all sorts of decisions they'd normally take their time over. It was the same way the last time this was happening. People eloping left, right and center."

"Like you and Dad?" Ginny slid in slyly.

"Yes, well, that was different. You father and I were made for each other. We were in love and there was no point in waiting. Whereas Bill and Fleur… well… what have they really got in common? Bill is a hard worker, down-to-earth and Fleur is…"

"A complete snob, yeah. But I expect Bill likes a bit of adventure, seeing as he's a Curse-Breaker. That's probably why he's gone for Phlegm," said Ginny.

"Stop calling her that, Ginny," scolded Mrs. Weasley. Harry was a little surprised at Ginny's vehemence for Fleur. I mean, she could be a bit standoffish at times, but she wasn't all that bad. At least, ever since Harry had 'saved' her little sister, she had become considerably warmer towards him. Harry wondered if Hermione had heard of this new development. Where _was_ Hermione? She was nowhere to be seen and Harry was starting to worry a little. Did she take the news that badly? Or was she up to something completely separate? He hoped for the latter choice.

Harry and Ron headed to the room they shared to change into more comfortable attire. Upon leaving the room, they ran into none other than Hermione herself.

"Oh, there you are," she said.

"There _we_ are? We've been wondering where _you_ were all this time!" replied Ron somewhat indignantly.

"It's — oh, just let me show you," she said impatiently, beckoning them to follow her. Well, this was an unexpected turn of events, thought Harry. He looked at Ron, both had raised eyebrows.

"Are you guys coming, or not?" came Hermione's voice.

They went to follow her, and Harry wondered what she could have possibly been working on to get her feeling this rushed.

"This had better not be a plea for us to review your Potions essay or anything."

"Hmph. Please, I know you better than to ask _that_, Ronald."

She was leading them to one of the mostly unused rooms at the highest level of the dwelling. Harry became even more intrigued.

"Would you just tell us already?" pressed Ron, becoming impatient himself.

"Just hold on, we're almost there." She walked up to one of the doors and pushed it open.

Harry had to blink a few times to make sure that he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. But by the astonished look on Ron's face, his vision hadn't become any more impaired.

They seemed to be looking at not the inside of a room, but a vast, open field, complete with a sky and enough artificial sunlight to light the room. Harry felt his mouth drop. It was impressive for sure, but why? This was clearly what Hermione had been working on almost all day. "I just thought that you needed something to relax and clear your mind. And as Ron pointed out, we're in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood… so…"

And then it hit Harry why she had created this imitation of the outdoors. It was for him. So that he could do something that he took pleasure in, even though she herself didn't. Hermione was brilliant, he knew, but this was advanced, even for her. It must have taken a lot of work. "But the magic —" Harry started.

"I remember when you told me how Dobby got you into trouble. There are plenty of full wizards here that I don't have to worry about being detected. Come to think of it, I don't know if any magic can be detected here, as it's protected by the Fidelius charm. And besides," she added, "I haven't ever received a warning yet, so even if they did find out, I wouldn't be expelled or anything like that. It was actually quite fascinating, figuring it all out. I've always wanted to try something like this."

That was just like Hermione to turn this into an intellectual challenge. Still, Harry knew how much Hermione hated breaking rules. It touched him that his happiness was that important to her. She was still taking a big risk, and all on his behalf. And Ron's, too.

"You're a bloody genius, Hermione," chimed in Ron. He was visibly delighted that he would get a chance to play Quidditch after all.

Hermione smiled, mildly embarrassed.

"What do you say, Ron? Fancy a ride?"

"Are you kidding, mate? Is that even a question?"

Harry laughed. "I'll go get our brooms," said Ron.

"Maybe Ginny will want to join us," called out Harry.

"Good idea," he said as he left to go down the stairs.

Harry turned to Hermione. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't even know what to say. I can't believe you did all of this."

"Oh, it was no problem at all. I'm glad to help."

"But this is really impressive stuff, Hermione. Have you done anything like this before?"

"Well, no. But I read about it in theory. It's detailed in _Hogwarts, a History_ when it talks about all of the enchantments in the Great Hall. And there were also a lot of helpful tips in some of the more advanced transfiguration books. That's where I read about most of the methodology behind the magic."

Harry again tried to communicate how grateful he was, but he knew Hermione understood. "Would you like to fly with us?" he asked, not wanting to leave her out.

"Ha ha, no I don't think so. I figured flying wasn't really my thing when I did miserably during flying lessons, and our third year reinforced that sentiment." Yes, Harry thought, he remembered how tightly Hermione held onto him and her futile protests when riding Buckbeak, or the time last year when they rode the thestrals, although that time he didn't blame her — he probably wouldn't like flying on what appeared to be thin air either. "I'll be fine just watching," she said with a tired smile.

"You didn't have to do this," he insisted.

"But I wanted to. I mean, being back here in this house and what you told us about the prophecy, I figured you needed some sort of outlet. I can't really do anything about your biggest problems, but if I could —"

"No, it helps a lot. And it means a lot to me. I'm glad you did."

She smiled again.

"Hey, Harry! You coming or what?" Ron had returned carrying their broomsticks. Ginny had come as well. The look on her face was much like the one Ron, and Harry expected that he himself, had worn moments earlier.

"Of course," answered Harry, taking his broom and entering the room that Hermione had so skillfully created, glancing back to give one of his best friends one last appreciative look. She nodded her head to indicate that she understood his gratitude and to go on and fly.

He didn't need any more encouragement. He took to the 'skies' if you could call it that, but it didn't make any difference. Being on his Firebolt and zipping through the air and feeling the ripple in his hair from the velocity of his broom, he felt more at ease than he had in a long time. Soaring aloft with his friends, he wasn't thinking about Sirius' death, or his fated match with Voldemort. All he was thinking about was the pleasures of flying, and how blessed he was to have such unwaveringly loyal and selfless friends. He was finally able to put his problems momentarily on hold and, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was content.

. *** .

Elsewhere, another individual would receive no such comfort. Lying on his bed and resting the back of his head in the crook of his arm, Draco Malfoy stared aimlessly at the ceiling of his extravagant room in the Manor, looking at nothing in particular.

He felt trapped. Nothing he did would change his fate. He would be a Death Eater, like his father before him. He had always aspired to join the Dark Lord when he was younger, and upon learning he was to be inducted into the group, he felt a determined pride; but now he was having doubts. It was nothing like he expected. His father always preached how much of an honor it was to follow the Dark Lord in his plight to purge Mudbloods from the Wizarding world, but now he wondered whether or not it was all worth it. This wasn't something he could just back out of using his Slytherin cunning. Once in, you were in for life — which was threatened every passing day in the Dark Lord's presence. Draco quickly learned that the word leniency was not in the Dark Lord's vocabulary; he had zero tolerance for any missteps or errors. Now he understood why his mother had seemed so aghast upon learning of what was to become of him. At first, he thought his mother was simply mollycoddling him and he was affronted that she considered him to be too young, thirsting for a chance to prove himself.

Now, he just felt hollow and empty. It was as if an invisible string was pulling him closer to his destiny, and he was just a passive observer. But panic and fear were ever present in his mind, threatening to break through the dam where he buried them, loathe as he was to admit it. He was a coward. He was as much of a little boy as his mother believed he was. And he hated it. He gained no pleasure from the countless torture scenes and listless murders he had witnessed; instead, it made him sick to his stomach. The Dark Lord repulsed him. Draco wondered how he could have possibly once been human.

_His eyes were red and feral, feline — no serpentine fit him better — in shape. "And do you here swear fealty, Draco Malfoy, that you will serve your Master, me and no one else, and take upon you the name of Death Eater?" It was only through immense self-discipline that Draco did not blink, reflexively swallow, or turn away. "Yes, my Lord."_

_Those pale eyes gleamed crimson. He stood, the image of some dark, twisted, skeletal angel. Pulling out his wand, he approached the young blonde and swiftly pushed back the fabric of his sleeve, exposing the naked skin of Draco's forearm._

_"Morsmorde Vinculum__," he hissed, sounding very much like a snake_ [3].

_Draco immediately felt a tingling, burning sensation running along his arm. He had braced himself in expectation of immense pain, but soon realized that the feeling wasn't half as bad as many of his imaginations led him to believe. More than the pain in his arm was the impression that at his core, something was very wrong, unnatural even. It made the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. But as soon as he tried to identify exactly what it was that he was feeling, it was gone. Still, although the pain was bearable, it was difficult not to react. He had not possessed the gall to ask his father how bad the pain was beforehand; he knew better than that. To ask was to show weakness, which Draco refused to do. He looked out among the crowd of Death Eaters to see if he could spot his father — perhaps wearing a look of pride and approval that so seldom crossed his features — but all he could see were a mass of veiled eyes hidden beneath dark hoods._

_"It is done," said the Dark Lord with a finality that resonated with a clang of a gate closing down on Draco's future. "Welcome, Draco Malfoy, to the Death Eaters."_

_Welcoming was not exactly the word Draco would use to describe the atmosphere. "Thank you, my Lord. I can't tell you how honored I am, my Lord," he groveled._

_"Yes, yes," the Dark Lord replied uninterestedly. "I will not bother to detail the unspoken laws I expect you to follow. You will soon learn what is acceptable, and what is not. If you cannot do that, then I have no use for you."_

_"Of course, my Lord. I will —"_

_"But first," he interrupted, "I must reward you for your allegiance." Why was Draco getting a bad feeling about this…?_

_"I will give you a taste of the power you may gain should you serve me well." A few of the Death Eaters started to murmur in approval. "If you could, Wormtail, bring out our esteemed guest?"_

_Wormtail, Draco knew, was not a typical Death Eater. He had betrayed his friends to their deaths, fearing for his life. He did not wear the normal garb as was customary for a Death Eater (he did not merit that 'honor'), and did not partake in the standard activities, instead tending to the Dark Lord's personal needs. Most, if not all of the other Death Eaters detested him, but they tolerated his presence nonetheless. He was frequently on the receiving end of poor treatment at the hands of the other Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord did nothing to prevent this. Now, the diminutive man brought out the unmistakable form of a woman, bound and blindfolded._

_"Ah, yes. Here we are," he said as Wormtail approached, "Thank you, Wormtail."_

_When the Dark Lord removed the tattered bag that was concealing the unknown woman's face, the first reaction Draco had was surprise. He knew he had seen this woman before, but where? She was dressed in Muggle clothing, and Draco did not associate with any Muggles… Ah, Muggles, Draco thought. This was the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts, he realized. But what did she have to do with anything?_

_"Ah, so you do recognize her, I see," said the Dark Lord. With a start Draco realized that the Dark Lord must have been reading his thoughts. He quickly put up his defenses, but subtly, as he had been taught so that the Dark Lord would not detect any variation. "Then you know that she preaches precisely what I have been trying to dismantle. She is ignorant to believe she could so brazenly oppose me without facing retribution. This will also serve as a warning to everyone who foolishly believes that Dumbledore can protect _anyone_ from me. And now, Draco, because I am a benevolent leader, I will allow you the pleasure of demonstrating this." The other Death Eaters were becoming restless in anticipation. Honestly, how could they enjoy this so much? He tried to ignore the fact that one of those people was his father. They had taken off their masks. Whether it was because custom necessitated it or to get a better look, Draco wasn't sure._

_Draco's mind was starting to panic. He didn't mean _kill_ her, did he?_

_"I think the Cruciatus curse will do nicely. Do it, Draco. Remind this Muggle-lover to never, ever question the power of Lord Voldemort."_

_Draco, didn't seem to be able to move. Everything, his mind, his body, was suddenly frozen. After a couple of moments, the Dark Lord turned to face him._

_"No?" the Dark Lord questioned dangerously._

_Draco was still rooted to the spot. Why didn't he do something? 'Just do it!' he told himself. 'It's not as if I even care about her.'_

_"Then I shall teach you."_

_Pain such as Draco had never experienced before surged through his body. His bones felt as though they were on fire. Every single nerve ending felt like it was being struck by lightning. He couldn't even remember who he was. There was only the pain. He was probably screaming, but if he was, he couldn't hear it. Please, let it stop, was all he could think. Let it stop. Just let me die so it will all end…_

_Suddenly, it did. He was now crumpled pathetically on the forest floor; he had no recollection of ever falling down. Now that it was over, he knew the Dark Lord had him under the spell for no more than a few seconds. In reality, not much time had passed, but it seemed like an eternity to Draco. He was still aching from the curse and he was shaking. But that didn't matter. As long as the pain was gone._

_He heard screams. Was that him? No. He stood up slowly and saw that the Muggle Studies professor was now under the very curse he himself had just experienced. The Dark Lord paused for a short while, teasing his victim allowing her a glimmer of hope so that he might snuff it out. He was gloating to her about something, but Draco wasn't paying any particular attention to the Dark Lord's words, transfixed in morbid fascination. "Severus, please," she begged. "Please, Severus," she desperately pleaded her colleague. Snape's face remained impassive as ever, conveying no emotion. Draco would give his allowance money to know what was going through his mind at times like these. Then she was writhing in pain once more, reminding Draco eerily of the time Moody — or Crouch, rather — had performed the Unforgivable curses in his fourth year. And like that particular session of class, he knew what to expect next._

_"Avada Kedavra!" A jet of green light flew towards the professor, who ceased all movement. Her lifeless form gave no indication that she had been struggling for her life not moments ago. Draco tried to quell the bile that was beginning to rise in his throat._

_Now, the Dark Lord turned to him once more. _Oh no_, Draco thought, _he's going to do it again_. He was so afraid of facing the pain again. He had never been so afraid of anything in his entire life._

_"You will learn," was all he said, turning to face the rest of his Death Eaters in attendance._

_ It wasn't reassurance, it was a command._

The meeting ended not long after that, although time seemed to crawl at a snail's pace. It always did. He had only been to two more meetings since then, but he had quickly come to loathe them. At their most recent gathering, Draco had been informed of the mission he was to undertake.

His task… How was he going to be able to do _that_? Even the Dark Lord himself hadn't been able to defeat Dumbledore, so what chance did a sixteen-year-old boy have? Of course, Draco never voiced that particular thought aloud. Draco had always despised Dumbledore but he'd never actually wanted him dead or anything. Maybe he wouldn't care so much, definitely not as much as the other students like Potter. But Dumbledore _was_ one of the greatest wizards of their time. Draco was intelligent and resourceful, but this bordered on the impossible. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to do it. _No!_ he told himself. _I have to do this. If I don't…_

His family was depending on him. And he didn't want to die yet either. Sometimes he would become so engulfed in fear and doubt it was almost enough to make him nauseous. He was utterly alone. But he had to find a way. He _had_ to.

But he couldn't let anyone know about his misgivings. He would never let anyone know he was scared, Draco promised himself. Not even his mother. And especially not the Dark Lord. Luckily, his Aunt Bellatrix had trained him in the ways of Occlumency, although she believed it was necessary to guard against Snape, not the Dark Lord, she said. But it was still a useful tool to possess, when the Dark Lord would probe his mind, searching for a potential weakness.

Draco wondered why his aunt would feel the need to learn Occlumency. What did she have to hide? As far as he was concerned, she was devoted to the Dark Lord to the point of insanity. Intriguing though this was, he had more pressing matters to be dealing with. At any rate, his aunt had finally proved to be useful to him. He only pretended to like her for his mother's sake. He also didn't want to have to deal with his aunt. And if he played nice, maybe he could gain something from it. He could tell that even his father wasn't particularly fond of her. His father. If Draco didn't know what to think once his father had escaped, he didn't know what to think now that his father had been captured once again. And so soon. He had been getting used to not having his father around. He found that he had access to more freedom in his father's absence. It could almost be considered peaceful when it was just him and his mother. She tended to downplay her emotions more when his father was around. He hated that his father was so stern and impassive. But he still craved for his praise. All he ever seemed was disappointed. Even when Draco had earned high marks in school — higher, in fact, than virtually everyone else except for that insufferable, bushy-haired bookworm — his father had not been pleased. Potter had also bested him in the Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had received ample chastisement for that one. Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures he had no use for, but in all of the important subjects — Charms, Transfiguration, Potions — he could top everyone except for that Muggle-born know-it-all.

He sighed. He would be returning to Hogwarts in about a month or so. Despite all of the tremendous pressure he was under, he still looked forward to going back. True, he would have to deal with his sycophantic companions — he was going to have to act as if nothing was amiss, he needed to continue to seem eager to service the Dark Lord — but he missed the moving staircases, the grand hallways, the crackling fires in the common room, the succulent (he admitted begrudgingly) feasts, the wand-brandishing, the broom-riding, and just the general aura of intense magical energy. Even the daunting tasks ahead of him could not drain all of his enthusiasm. And he couldn't help but feel a little safer inside the castle walls, away from _him_.

Yes, he was looking forward to returning to Hogwarts. But he still had a month to go until that time.

He studied the tattoo on his arm. It still gave him a start every time he looked at it. Once upon a time, he used to think it would be an impressive feat to receive and carry the notorious mark. Now, it just looked ugly to him, the snake jutting out from the mouth of the skull like a scepter of death, reminding him of what he must become — had become. He shut his eyes, forcing the tears to dissipate. When he opened his eyes, they were red from the effort, but dry. There was no use in crying. His fate was sealed. Now it was just a matter of making the most of it.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 7:

Dumbledore arrives at Grimmauld Place to retrieve Harry. He explains to him the reasoning behind his risky move, confirming Harry's suspicions. The Headmaster also begins to instruct Harry in discovering the secrets of Voldemort's mysterious past, and they strive to formulate a plan which will ultimately end in the Dark Lord's defeat.

_"And you think this will help me against Voldemort?" he asked tentatively. "Does it have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help me… survive?"_

_"It has a very great deal to do with the prophecy," said Dumbledore, as casually as if Harry had asked him about the weather, "and I certainly hope that it will help you to survive."_

_"Understand, that from this point onward, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory, into thickets of wildest guesswork."_

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] See, there's Hedwig.

[2] My favorite. ;)

[3] I have no idea what spell is used to create the Dark Mark, so I used the incantation from the Goblet of Fire and added the Latin word for 'bond'.

A/N:

Okay, so the last couple of chapters have been fairly long. In fact, only chapters 1 and 3 have been relatively short so far (and the prologue). So I've been due for a shorter chapter it seems; which makes sense, as this chapter doesn't have a whole bunch of content. Actually, it's longer than I expected it to be. It's more about Harry's state of being after a very action packed period of time. I was tempted to condense this and add it to the next chapter, but I decided that it's good to have a change of pace. If drama is on-going, things start to feel a bit crammed and plot revelations can end up being anticlimactic. I feel like sometimes, you have to slow things down. The way I think about it this: If you want to create a beautiful piece of music for say, an orchestra, or if you are mixing a score for a film, you don't want to have all of the sound elements playing at full strength going full-bore. It would just be a cacophony of noise, if that makes sense. Same thing applies to a story. It's less of a problem in a written work as opposed to works through film media, but it can still bog down the central plot.

I hope Harry doesn't come off as too angsty. That certainly isn't my goal. I made a point not to make him annoyingly moody as in the fifth book (he seriously bordered on being a downright whinny brat at times). However, I do think realistically, he would be overcome with emotion with his godfather, the closest thing to a parent, taken away from him and finding out that he's the only one who can prevent Voldemort from reigning supreme over the entire Wizarding world. Pretty intense stuff for a mere teenager to cope with. Plus, his only relatives don't care about him (although Dudley has come around). That can't help to be around that as well during such a vulnerable time in one's life.

I also hope you felt that my characterization of Draco (and all of the other characters for that matter) was depicted fairly accurately. I'd like to hope so. But if not, then please, tell me what you think I am doing wrong. I am open to constructive criticism. By this time, I have already written most of this story, but it's not out of the question for me to re-edit certain bits. If I'm way off, I'll use it to build upon for my subsequent stories.

I feel like I took an infinitely long break from this chapter. So I apologize if the last couple of chapters have lacked fluidity. I find it becoming harder and harder to write this story. It has taken me much longer than I anticipated. But I suppose college has that effect of providing a lack of motivation to invest in extra-curricular activities. I actually started writing material from chapters much later on in this installment, and I found that it was much easier to write.

By the way, something I've found, in case you're interested, is that the dynamic between characters can make it easier to construct dialogue than between others. Pretty obvious, but for me, the pairings of Harry and Dumbledore, Harry and Hermione, Hermione and Draco, and anything with Snape come the most easily. Surprisingly (or perhaps not), dialogue between Ron and Harry, Ron and Hermione, and Ginny and Harry are the most difficult major associations to write material for in terms of dialogue.

Signing off,

fanster


	8. Memories and Revelations

DISCLAIMER: It is a little depressing to have to tell you every chapter that I, sadly, own nothing of _Harry Potter_, because I am only a lowly college student. But there you have it. However, this story is my own and I would be grateful if no one stole it because that's just mean.

I'd like to give a public thank you to **DarthNacho** for reviewing this story! I also feel obligated to mention **alix33** once more, for being very persistent and reviewing almost every chapter. You want your name up here and some recognition? Review, please!

As I've told you, I'm already making no profit from this. All I can get is reviews, which will do quite nicely. I've noticed many people have favorited or put my story on alert, but haven't reviewed. I just want you to know that I care about what you think of my story! So if you'll be so kind to leave one for me, that would be much appreciated. Otherwise, the joy I get from writing this (although it has been fun) will be minimal. It is a lot of work. For me, seeing that other people enjoy it uplifts my spirits a bit, and motivates me to get to work writing this story. Constructive criticism is always welcome, as well.

I'm going on vacation in two weeks, so I've adjusted the posting schedule. See my profile for details under the 'Update' section. Also, I apologize once again for the late posting, but this time, I have an excuse. My laptop is doing all sorts of weird things and I had to take it in to be fixed. It was a pain to back up all of my files, but I'm using my sibling's computer for now. My computer should be back in another few days, so I'll be able to post the next chapter next Friday.

I should forewarn you that a bit of the dialogue is taken from HBP, when they are discussing Fleur, and when they receive their OWLs. And I had a hard time changing one of the memories Dumbledore showed Harry in HBP. The memory borrowed heavily from HBP. I tried to condense it and change it around a bit, but most of the dialogue is the same. It's definitely not exactly the same, but it isn't much different. It doesn't take up a majority of the chapter (maybe a fifth), though, so most of it is my own work. But the memory is important, and I'd rather just regurgitate it than make a brief mention of it and force you to look it up in your book. Other than that, everything else should look new. ;) I think I've done a pretty good job in using the book as sparingly as possible. The majority of it has been original material, and I haven't had to look up the book but for a couple of times. I think the only other major content I got from HBP was Harry's visit with Slughorn, and I greatly reduced that scene. Anyways, I hope you find most of this new-feeling.

Just to warn you, this is a very long one. Much longer than I anticipated. It is the longest one I have posted so far. One more thing… after this chapter, it's off to Hogwarts!

* * *

Chapter 7

Memories and Revelations

Light flooded the room. Harry could see the light shining through the capillaries in his heavy lids, making everything appear red. It awoke him even in his deep state of relaxation. He had slept quite well as a result of all of the activity from the day before. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and reached for his glasses on the bedside table. He looked over at Ron who had somehow, miraculously, managed to slumber through the brilliant and glaring sunshine. Then again, Ron had an uncanny ability to sleep through even the most tumultuous circumstances.

A devious idea forming in his mind, Harry crept over to Ron's bed. He lowered his head next to Ron's and bellowed, "Hey Ron, it's time to get up!" The results were astonishing. The red head jolted with a tremendous start and emitted a wail of consternation, almost toppling over the edge of the mattress. Harry chuckled unabashedly at his friends antics. "Bloody hell, Harry, what was that for?" Harry just continued to laugh. "What's gotten into you?" asked Ron, but in a tone that suggested that he wasn't really angry with Harry's little prank. "I don't know, it just seemed like a good idea. It was just a sudden, spur-of-the-moment inspiration," he added cheekily. But Harry knew that the lightheartedness almost certainly stemmed from the fact that he was feeling the happiest he had in a long time. Given his recent behavior, his actions must make him seem downright giddy in comparison.

"Yeah, well, I hope you're not feeling this 'inspired' all the time," muttered Ron. "For your sake, not mine," he threatened jokingly. "I'd thought Fred and George had come home." Harry had no trouble in envisioning why Ron had assumed the rude wakeup call was of the twins' doing.

Attempting to cheer up Ron, who still clearly didn't seem to find the situation as amusing as Harry did, he asked, "Care for a fly?" Harry knew he should probably eat breakfast first, but they were up earlier than they usually were and he didn't think he could wait that long to experience the thrill again.

His strategy seemed to be effective. "Are you kidding? Who're you talking to?" answered Ron.

After about one glorious hour later, they decided to painfully depart and head down for breakfast. Harry still couldn't fathom how flying could give him an extreme sense of exhilaration and peace all at once.

Downstairs, they saw that not only were Mrs. Weasley, Hermione and Ginny waiting for them, but that Lupin was there as well, sipping on some tea, which came as a pleasant surprise to Harry. "Where on earth have you two been? Not sleeping this whole time, I hope?" asked Mrs. Weasley as they emerged in the kitchen.

"Hello, Harry, how are you doing? Ron," their former professor greeted.

"Hello, sir," Harry answered somewhat awkwardly, unsure of how he should address his former professor.

"It's Remus, Harry," he requested, seeming to read Harry's mind.

"Nope, we weren't sleeping," Ron answered his mother matter-of-factly.

"Well, then what —"

"We just went for a quick fly," he stated in a deliberately nonchalant tone and grinning impishly.

"You what? Ronald Bilius Weasley!" she began.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley," assured Harry, wanting to spare Ron's mother the agitation and to avoid unnecessary accusation. "We didn't go outside, Hermione created a room or us to fly in." Harry felt bad about disclosing this information, but someone was bound to notice sooner or later that one of the rooms was significantly different, and no one would believe that Harry and Ron had done it. Mrs. Weasley looked surprised. Remus looked impressed. "How did you manage to do that?" he enquired.

"Oh, well, I became interested in the idea upon learning of the enchantments on the ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. I was able to find enough reading material in the library to understand the theory behind it. I hadn't gotten around to trying it, so I figured I'd take a crack at it," explained Hermione.

"I'd like to see it, if that's alright with you," requested Remus.

"Oh, sure. Of course!" answered Hermione.

The six of them headed upstairs, Mrs. Weasley was clearly curious as well.

When they reached the room Remus let out a low whistle. "Wow, you really outdid yourself, didn't you Hermione? And that's saying something."

"Oh, well, I —" she mumbled, clearly embarrassed, but pleased.

"This is very advanced magic," Remus continued. "Many full wizards couldn't even do this."

"Well, it's not like this is magic that most people would need to use. I'm sure many could do this if they wanted to, they just don't have an interest to learn it. But I was intrigued by the idea ever since seeing the Great Hall."

Mrs. Weasley looked stunned.

"It's pretty cool, isn't it?" Ginny said fondly.

"It's a good thing that underage magic won't be detected here," Remus teased slyly, although he didn't seem the least bit angry. Even so, Hermione was still somewhat abashed.

"Yes, Hermione was thoughtful enough to do all of this for us," Harry said gratefully.

"Yeah, we figured she's useful enough to keep around," joked Ron, to which Hermione playfully smacked Ron on the arm.

Harry was a bit surprised that Mrs. Weasley hadn't lightly scolded Hermione for performing illegal magic, but she seemed to appreciate the sentiment behind Hermione's actions saying, "Well, at least I don't have to worry about you boys containing too much pent up energy."

They all laughed at that. After they went back downstairs, they returned to the kitchen to finish their breakfast. Remus told them, "Well, I should probably be off now. Lots of work to be done," he explained.

"You're sure you won't eat then?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"I'm alright, Molly, I already ate breakfast." It sounded like this wasn't the first time she had asked that question this morning. Mrs. Weasley looked dubious that he had eaten properly. Not without reason either, Harry thought. From what he knew, his former professor was not particularly wealthy to say the least. He was sure that Remus received as much concern as he himself did regarding nutrition from the Weasley matriarch.

"You know you're always welcome, Remus. Stop by whenever you need."

"I'll be sure to do that, Molly," he replied gratefully.

"Oh, and you'll be staying tonight for dinner?"

"Of course. I wouldn't want to miss one of your meals."

"Good," answered Mrs. Weasley, her eyes glinting rather mischievously, why, Harry didn't know.

"I'll be seeing you around," he said, now addressing the entire group.

They all said goodbye in their own varying ways. "Is there an Order meeting tonight?" asked Harry. That was the only reason he could see sense in what Mrs. Weasley was saying about 'staying for dinner'.

"Yes, there is," answered Mrs. Weasley.

"Will Professor Snape be attending the meeting?" asked Hermione suddenly. They all looked surprised at this inquiry, except for Harry who had an inkling of where Hermione was going with this.

"Yes, he will be there," answered Mrs. Weasley, also looking mildly perplexed.

"What, need to ask about your potions essay or something?" Ron kidded. Hermione shrugged dismissively, and while Ron snorted, she sent Harry a significant look.

Ginny, having already eaten went elsewhere to search for her misplaced book, and Ron was now digging into his breakfast. Harry joined in and helped himself to toast with marmalade and porridge. There was a sudden rattling sound that was coming from somewhere above them. After they had all paused to listen it sounded again. "Ugh! That blasted boggart is back!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley, now bustling huffily up the stairs to dispatch of the unwanted inhabitant.

Soon thereafter, Ginny was making her way back into the kitchens.

"Ugh!" cried Ginny, much like her mother did earlier. "She's already driving me insane!"

"Oh, no," Hermione said with impending trepidation.

"Yup. We're stuck with her again," Ginny answered gravely. Again? That didn't make sense.

"What has she done this time?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"The way she talks to me — you'd think I was three!" burst Ginny.

"I know," replied Hermione knowingly, "She can be so full of herself."

By now Harry was thoroughly confused. He thought Ginny was complaining about her admittedly sometimes overbearing mother, but he had never before heard Hermione speak this way about Mrs. Weasley — even that time when she had believed that article Skeeter had come out with in Harry's fourth year.

"She's here? Can't you guys lay off her for two seconds?" Ron contended.

"Oh, that's right, defend her," snapped Ginny. "We all know you can't get enough of her."

This was a very odd comment indeed, Harry was clearly missing something. "Wait a minute, who are you — ?"

"She's here, Mum."

Mrs. Weasley had rejoined them downstairs and now Harry knew for sure that his friends had definitely not been talking about her. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be trying to ignore what Ginny had just said for the moment, although she was clearly making an effort to compose herself. Unsolicited, Mrs. Weasley took it upon herself to laden Harry's plate with some sausages. No doubt she believed Harry hadn't received a proper meal under the care of the Dursleys. Harry also suspected she was trying to create a distraction, from _whomever_ it was they were speaking about. Then she frowned, "I didn't hear the doorb —"

"Let me 'elp wiz zat." Suddenly, Harry had a copious amount of sausages on his plate. "Juice, 'Arry?" came a pleasant voice. "Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks," replied Harry, completely flummoxed. Fleur Delacour? What was _she_ doing here? Then he remembered that she and Bill were getting married. "Oh, right. Congratulations, Fleur." She positively beamed. "Oh, zank you, 'Arry," she swiftly bent over and kissed each of his cheeks. Harry was mildly embarrassed; he could feel his cheeks starting to turn pink. "So she _deed_ tell you, zen. Eet is all very exciting!" He also remembered the reactions of the two women the other day, and indeed, Mrs. Weasley looked rather affronted and Ginny was shooting the part-veela some withering glances. He also noticed that Hermione didn't look especially pleased either.

"Remus let me in," she explained. "'E was leaving just as Bill and I got 'ere." None of the women looked too thrilled with this news.

Harry noticed Ron was dribbling orange juice down his front, staring vacantly at Fleur — the glass that was raised to his mouth was forgotten. Hermione was eyeing him in disgust.

"You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again," Fleur chirped.

"Yeah, that'll be nice," said Harry, his throat a little tight.

"Yes, you see —"

"Where's Bill?" Mrs. Weasley suddenly blurted.

"Oh, 'e is putting our things upstairs," Fleur explained. She turned back to Harry. "'E is working very 'ard. I am only working part-time for my Eenglish, so 'e brought me to 'is family's to meet zem. I should probably go and 'elp Bill unpack. Eet is good to see you again, 'Arry," she said, giving him one last peck on the cheek and turning to gracefully drift up the stairs, her long silvery hair gliding behind her.

Mrs. Weasley turned to magic the breakfast dishes clean, producing a noise that could only be described as, "Tchah!" and then exited the kitchen.

Looking over, Harry saw that Ron seemed a little punch-drunk.

"Don't you get used to it if she's been staying with you?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, I guess. But when she jumps out at you like that…" Ron explained in a slightly dazed voice, shaking his head.

"It's pathetic," Hermione voiced with disdain, striding away from Ron to distance herself from his as if he were contagious and turning to face them with her arms crossed.

"You don't really want her around forever, do you?" Ginny asked incredulously. When he merely shrugged, she said, "Well, you can bet Mum's going to try to put a stop to it."

"How's she going to manage that?" Harry asked.

"She keeps trying to get Tonks over for dinner," answered Ginny. "I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family than Phlegm."

"Yeah, that'll really work," Ron said sarcastically. "Look, no bloke in his right mind is going to fancy Tonks when Fleur's around. No offense. Tonks is alright when she isn't doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but Fleur is…" he trailed off.

"She's a damn sight nicer than Phlegm," Ginny replied scathingly.

"And she's more intelligent, she's an Auror!" Hermione opined from the other side of the kitchen.

"But Fleur's not stupid, she was selected as one of the Triwizard champions, after all," Harry reasoned.

"Not you as well!" exclaimed a cross Hermione.

"I suppose you like the way she says ''Arry,' do you?" Ginny questioned scornfully.

"No," said Harry, now wishing he hadn't said anything, "I don't — I was just pointing out that Phlegm — I mean, Fleur —"

"I'd much rather have Tonks in the family," interceded Ginny. "At least she's a laugh."

"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately," Ron claimed. "Every time I see her she looks more like Moaning Myrtle."

"That's not fair," snapped Hermione. "She still hasn't gotten over what happened. I mean — he was her cousin!"

Harry's heart sank. They had arrived at Sirius. He swirled the dregs of his orange juice in hopes of averting any invitation to join in this segment of the conversation.

"Yeah, but it's one thing to grieve and be sad. She's depressed _all_ of the time. And she didn't even know him that well!" argued Ron.

"So? She thinks it's her fault Sirius died!"

"How does she figure that one out?" Harry asked in spite of himself.

"Well, she was fighting Bellatrix, wasn't she?" explained Hermione. "I think she feels that if she had just finished her off, Sirius wouldn't have been killed."

"That's ridiculous," said Ron.

"It's survivor's guilt," said Hermione. "I know that Lupin has tried to talk to her, but she's still really miserable. She's even having trouble with her metamorphosing!"

"What — like she can't change her face and stuff?" asked Harry.

"No," Hermione shook her head sadly, "not like she used to be able to. I think her powers have been affected by shock."

"Wow," said Harry. "I didn't know that could happen."

"Neither did I," said Hermione, "but I suppose if you've been through a lot of distress and emotional turmoil…"

"What's that?" asked Ginny pointing out the window. There was a very irregularly shaped figure getting closer in the distance. This image evoked memories of something he had seen on his birthday before his third year. "Oh, yeah," said Harry suddenly remembering another portion of his discussion with Dumbledore last night, "Dumbledore said the O.W.L. results would be coming today."

"Today?" shrieked Hermione. "You should have said… Why didn't you say…?"

Indeed, as the mysterious profile flew closer, three owls were distinguishable.

"I know I messed up Ancient Runes," muttered Hermione feverishly, "I definitely made at least one major mistranslation. And the Defense Against the Dark Arts practical was no good at all. I thought Transfiguration went well at the time, but looking back…"

"Hermione, will you shut up? You're not the only one who's nervous here!" barked Ron. "And when you get your eleven 'Outstanding' OWLs…"

"Don't, don't, don't!" said Hermione, flapping her hands hysterically. "I know I've failed everything!"

"What happens if we fail?" Harry asked the room at large.

"We discuss our options with our Head of House," supplied Hermione, "I asked Professor McGonagall at the end of last term."

The owls — revealed to be three handsome tawnies — were fast approaching the kitchen window, carrying identical envelopes.

"Oh no… oh no… oh no…" crooned Hermione, bouncing nervously on the spot. She gripped both Harry and Ron tightly on the back of their upper arms, forgetting her earlier occupation of brooding in the corner. Ginny opened the window and the owls zoomed in and landed neatly on the countertop and promptly lifted their right legs uniformly.

"Oh no!" squealed Hermione.

Harry moved forward to untie his letter. To his left, Ron was detaching his own results while Hermione did the same to his right. Her hands were shaking so much she was making her whole owl tremble.

Harry slit open his letter quickly and unfolded the parchment inside with some trepidation.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Pass Grades:

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

Harry James Potter has achieved:

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms E

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology E

History of Magic D

Potions E

Transfiguration E

Harry reread the parchment through several times, his breathing becoming easier with each reading. It was all right: He had always known that he would fail Divination not that it particularly mattered to him, and he had had no chance of passing History of Magic, given that he had collapsed halfway through the examination… but he had passed everything else! He ran his finger down the grades… He hadn't been expecting anything spectacular in Astronomy as he had been distracted by the commotion on the grounds when Umbridge went to arrest Hagrid. But he had done well in Transfiguration and Herbology, and even exceeded expectations at Potions! Best of all, he had achieved 'Outstanding' at Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He looked around. Hermione had her back to him and her head bent, but Ron looked pleased.

"Only failed Divination and History of Magic, and who cares about them?" he said happily to Harry. "Here, let's swap…"

Harry scrolled down Ron's grades; there were no 'Outstandings' there.

"Knew you'd be top at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Ron, punching Harry in the shoulder. "We've done all right, haven't we?"

"Mum, our OWL results have come!" Ron exclaimed as his mother entered the room.

"Oh? And how did you do?" she asked a tad apprehensively.

"See for yourself," he said ostentatiously, handing his mother his results.

"Well done!" said Mrs. Weasley proudly, ruffling Ron's hair. "Seven OWLs, that's more than Fred and George combined!"

"Hermione?" said Ginny tentatively, for Hermione still hadn't turned around. "How did you do?"

"I — not bad," said Hermione in a small voice.

"Oh, come off it," said Ron, striding over and snatching her results out of her hands. "Yep… ten 'Outstandings' and one 'Exceeds Expectations' in Defense Against the Dark Arts." He looked down at her, half-amused, half-exasperated. "You're actually disappointed, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head, but Harry laughed.

"Well, we're N.E.W.T. students now!" grinned Ron.

Harry looked back down at his results. They were as good as he could have hoped for. He felt a twinge of regret… This was the end of his ambition to become an Auror. He had not secured the required Potions grade. He had known all along that he wouldn't — it had never been his strong suit (It wasn't potions he disliked in particular, but rather a severe, sadistic, and loathed professor of his) — but he still felt a clenching in the pit of his stomach as he looked again at that little black 'E'.

It was odd, really, seeing that it had been a Death Eater in disguise who had first told Harry he would make a good Auror, but he had taken to the idea, and he couldn't really think of anything else he would like to do with his career. Moreover, it had seemed an appropriate choice for him, especially in light of hearing the prophecy.

The group could hear Bill and Fleur making their way downstairs.

"Come on," muttered Ron. "Let's go upstairs."

"Harry! I heard you would be coming. It's good to see you again," Bill said pleasantly, holding out his hand. Harry reached out and shook it. "It's good to see you, too," he answered. "Congratulations," he added.

"Ah, thanks, Harry," said Bill. "Yep, next summer," he said wrapping his arm around Fleur, both with huge smiles. If Mrs. Weasley was indeed trying to tear the couple apart, she had her work cut out for her, thought Harry. They both seemed so happy.

"Bill, Ron's just received his OWL results… Seven!" exclaimed Mrs. Weasley. She seemed much happier with this news than the wedding.

"Good for you, Ron. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Bill," mumbled Ron.

"That is terreefic, Ron," said Fleur following suit and giving him a quick peck on the cheek, dazing Ron.

"I'll have to do something special for the occasion to celebrate; for all of you. Just wonderful! I'll make your favorite, Ron. How about Yorkshire pudding?"

"That sounds great, Mum," replied Ron. Bill smiled. His mother could get very excited over these types of things. Harry remembered having a little party last year when Ron and Hermione were made prefects.

"We're just going to be up in the drawing room," Ron told his mother.

"Of course, you guys wouldn't want to hang around us all day. I know how that is," Bill said knowingly with a quick wink.

The crew made it upstairs to the drawing room. So Bill and Fleur were here, the twins were at their shop and Charlie was back in Romania…

"What's up with Percy?" Harry asked.

The slightly dreamy look fell off Ron's face to be replaced with one that looked annoyed. "He's still acting like a prat. I mean, more of a prat than he was before all of this happened."

"Has your family seen him at all? Your dad and Percy both work at the ministry, don't they?" asked Harry. "They must've seen each other."

"But they work in completely different departments," explained Ginny, "Percy sort of dropped down the ranks after everything that happened with Umbridge and Fudge. And Dad's the one with the promotion. I bet that really set Percy off," she said with satisfaction.

"I think Dad's only seen him a couple of times, but nothing dramatic happened," Ron said. "The times he has seen him, he says it's been really awkward."

"Yeah, Dad said that he usually doesn't see him, but when he does, Percy avoids eye contact and acts like he doesn't know Dad's even there. But we all know he's just pretending."

"Has he tried talking to him? Then Percy wouldn't have any excuse. He couldn't keep pretending your dad isn't there," wondered Harry.

"No," Ron said, "Dad says if Percy wants to apologize, it's on him to man up and admit his mistakes. He's not gonna take it easy on him."

"Well, he shouldn't. Percy doesn't deserve to have it easy," added Ginny. "I know what _I'd_ like to do to him if I saw him," she said, smacking her fist against the palm of her other hand to emphasize her meaning.

"I don't think Percy knows how much he insulted Dad by what he did," continued Ron. "I think he assumes Dad doesn't have a lot of pride or something, like he's a walk over."

"Well, hopefully that'll show Percy," stated Ginny.

"He's always been a bit of a stuck up, arrogant ponce," said Ron.

"Mum doesn't say anything, but we can tell she wants Dad to try and talk Percy round. You know, make up with Percy so we can all be one big, happy family again," Ginny said with distaste, making her opinion clear on the matter.

"What I don't get it, is now that he knows we've been right all along about Voldemort being back," Harry pondered.

"It's more difficult to forgive people for being right than for being wrong," stated Hermione. "I heard Professor Dumbledore telling your Mum earlier," she explained to Ron.

"Forgive? He's the one that should be apologizing!" exclaimed Ron.

"Yes, but in his mind, it's harder to swallow his pride and admit he was wrong."

"Speaking of Dumbledore, he should be coming by to get me soon," said Harry.

"Yeah, what for?" asked Ron.

"I'm not quite sure, but —"

"Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley had popped her head in the doorway to the drawing room. "Come downstairs and help me clean."

"I'm talking to this lot!" Ginny fumed.

"Now!" ordered Mrs. Weasley and withdrew.

"She only wants me down there so she doesn't have to be alone with Phlegm!" Ginny said crossly. She swung her hair around in a rather close imitation of Fleur and pranced across the room with her arms held aloft like a ballerina. The three of them laughed, even Ron.

"Wish me luck," she said as she left.

"Anyways," Harry continued after Ginny left, which was for the best because he had only planned on telling Ron and Hermione, "Evidently Dumbledore is going to be giving me private lessons this year."

"Blimey, you sure kept that quiet!" Ron exclaimed. "What?" he added as Hermione gasped.

"You don't think — do you think it has anything to do with Voldemort?" she wondered.

"I'm not sure, he didn't say exactly. But that's what I suspect," answered Harry.

"Is that what you were doing with him the other night?" asked Ron.

"No, we were trying to get someone to take the Defense job," Harry elaborated.

"Ooh, how is he?" Hermione asked keenly.

"Not sure. I didn't really get a chance to think about it. It was right after we saw him when we found out that the Burrow was attacked. And then everything at Privet Drive happened."

"Oh, Harry. I can't believe you were attacked like that. We were so worried."

"I thought I'd have to stay there the whole summer. At least here, I can see you both. I guess I can thank Voldemort for that," he said half-jokingly.

"I can't believe your uncle is refusing proper treatment," said Hermione.

"Well, that's the Dursleys for you."

"Oh, they must be awful."

"Ha ha. That's the understatement of the century. Although Dudley hasn't been too bad lately."

"What? That huge bloke?" asked Ron.

"Yeah. He's actually lost a lot of weight since he's been boxing, but he's still big. I certainly wouldn't pick a fight with him. I saw him beat up this one guy who was assaulting some girl."

"What?" they both said. Harry went on to explain what happened, as well as the reason for Dudley's sudden transformation.

"You really shouldn't have been out, Harry," Hermione mildly admonished.

"Well, that's done now, isn't it?" Ron said.

"At any rate, I'm glad he's come to his senses. I think it's great, Harry," said Hermione.

"Yeah, it only took Harry saving him from a dementor to see it," Ron said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Maybe the rest of your family will follow his lead," hoped Hermione.

"Heh, fat chance of that happening. Not that I really care anymore."

Mrs. Weasley had stuck her head through the door once more. "Harry? Professor Dumbledore is here for you."

"I'm coming down. Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said.

"Tell us how it goes!"

"Yeah, we wanna hear everything."

"Sure thing, once I get back," he promised.

"Hello, Harry. How have you been keeping?" inquired Dumbledore once Harry had arrived at the entrance hall.

"Well, sir."

"That is good."

There was an awkward pause.

"I assume you wish to check on your uncle?"

That's not exactly the way Harry would put it, but he suspected Dumbledore knew this. However, he was curious and did want make sure everyone was alright. He'd assumed they were because he hadn't heard any news of his extended family since the night of the attack on Privet Drive. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Very well, then we shall stop there first. I will bring Harry back sometime this afternoon, I gather," he said to Molly.

"Of course, Albus."

"No doubt Harry would not want to miss one of your magnificent meals," he said. "Well then, Harry. Let us be off."

"See you later," he said to Mrs. Weasley.

"Goodbye, Harry dear."

They stepped out of Grimmauld Place. It was good to get out, reflected Harry.

"And now, on to St. George's. If you will, Harry," Dumbledore said, holding out his arm. Harry thought for a split second how odd this would appear to anyone who happened to pass by. He suppressed those thoughts and grabbed onto Dumbledore's proffered arm. Once again, the sensation of immense pressure came, but was soon over. Harry supposed he could get used to it. He looked around. They were in an alleyway. Harry guessed it was so they could appear without being noticed. After all, vanishing into thin air was hardly a common occurrence. Doing it into London's largest hospital was probably not a good idea.

Harry had brought his cloak as Dumbledore instructed — just in case.

"This way, Harry," directed Dumbledore, leading him past a couple of rubbish bins and down the alleyway that lead to the main street. Shortly thereafter they arrived at the front doors of the hospital. They were receiving some strange looks indeed from passersby. Harry couldn't blame them for staring. Dumbledore's eclectic fashion decisions were not limited to the Wizarding world. Although he dressed appropriately, unlike the collection of wizards at the Quidditch World Cup, the suit he wore was purple and he was sporting a garish floral tie. His long silver hair and beard, while Harry was accustomed to it, were also visually conspicuous. Dumbledore, however, seemed not to take notice of this, or perhaps he was simply used to the phenomenon.

Instead of approaching the visitor's desk, Dumbledore led him down another wing. Eventually, he stopped outside one of the doors. Harry couldn't see his uncle or anyone else inside at this angle, except for one of the nurses; he wasn't sure if she was a Muggle or a witch. He was curious to know how the Healers were concealing themselves.

The nurse looked up and Harry could see her excusing herself to unseen inhabitants of the room, who he knew had to be the Dursleys.

Shutting the door behind her she said, "Albus, I've been expecting you. Aaron and I have been modifying the memory of the appropriate medical personnel here and taking proper care of the patient," she reported. "We have also placed Muggle-repelling charms on this room as you advised."

"And all has gone well? You have encountered no problems?" Dumbledore asked.

"None," she confirmed. "I admit I am surprised with how smoothly everything has gone." Now she turned to Harry. "Hello, Harry," she said. Her eyes briefly flickered to the scar beneath his bangs. "I'm Angela. You must want to see your family." Harry didn't ask how she knew who he was. He also didn't feel like explaining his complicated family dynamics to correct her, so he just nodded his head.

"I shall wait outside for you, Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry nodded again.

Angela opened the door once again and held it open for him. "You have visitors," she called out and left.

Upon entering the room, Harry now saw that all of the Dursley family was here. The current occupants of the room regarded him in contrastingly different ways. His Aunt Petunia was facing away and doing her best to ignore him as if he weren't there.

"Harry," Dudley acknowledged with a nod of his head.

"Dudley," Harry responded in kind.

Following this was an uncomfortable silence that suffused the room. Harry wasn't sure about what to do; he fiddled his fingers uncertainly. "How are you feeling, Uncle Vernon?" he finally asked. He must be feeling pretty bad, Harry thought, his uncle hadn't exploded or even turned purple. He did, however, direct a glare in Harry's direction. Now seemed as good a time as any to clear the air, seeing as Harry was less likely to be yelled at with Uncle Vernon confined to a hospital bed.

He took a deep breath, "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt." Silence. "I honestly had no idea this would happen. If I had known that the protections were no longer working, I would not have come back," he said truthfully, leaving out any mention of Dumbledore's prior knowledge. He decided it was better if he left that part out; they didn't need to know about it. No one said anything. Harry felt compelled to dispel the gnawing silence. "I _am_ glad you're alright. I don't want anyone hurt on my account." At any rate, his uncle was no longer glaring at him, or even looking at him. He gave a noncommittal grunt. It was better than nothing, Harry supposed.

Once again, his Aunt Petunia was wearing that closed off, unreadable expression that Harry could not decipher. He had no intentions of making this visit any longer than it needed to be. "Well, I just wanted to check in and make sure everyone was alright," he said, starting to leave.

"Does this mean you won't be staying next summer?" asked Petunia, speaking directly to Harry in what seemed like forever.

He hadn't given it much thought, but he couldn't endanger his relatives, however he regarded them. And it was a good excuse to get away from Privet Drive and he knew they'd be glad to be rid of him as well.

"No. I won't be staying. I'll probably stay at Sirius' place," he said, even though it was technically his house now. "I'll see you later," said Harry, not sure whether or not this was a true statement.

He heard Dudley say goodbye, but he also thought he heard a small voice say, "Bye." He didn't turn around to make sure. He didn't think his aunt would appreciate it.

"How did it go?" Dumbledore asked once he had exited the room.

"As well as it could have gone," answered Harry.

"That is good."

Walking down the hallways, Dumbledore asked, "Am I correct in guessing that your cousin Dudley has been more approachable recently?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I merely observed that the two of you have been reacting more comfortably with one another than I was led to believe from all I have heard. I did not believe you were lying about the nature of your past relationship with the Dursleys, so I assumed something had changed."

"He said it was because I saved him from the dementors. He said he was sorry for treating me the way he did."

"Ah, yes. Being saved from such a terrible fate certainly has the ability to change one's perception. That was another reason for me to believe he had indeed changed. And you have forgiven him I take it?"

"Yes. It's not really his fault. His parents have indoctrinated him since he was young."

"Of course. I am glad. However, I suspect that you do not fully understand the magnitude of what you have done, Harry. Most people would not have forgiven Dudley. But you have without any reluctance. It is a mark of your exceptional ability to care for others. I find it rather impressive," Dumbledore said.

It was the second time this summer Dumbledore had praised him so highly. Harry found himself in the position of feeling very awkward. Should he say 'thanks?' Thankfully, Dumbledore continued to change the subject.

"The Dursleys will have to stay at Grimmauld Place for a small time until we can secure another location for them to reside safely. It would not be wise for them to return to Privet Drive. At least not for a while."

Harry could imagine how thrilled Mistress Black would be with Muggles inside her home. He sincerely hoped no one accidently woke her up to find out.

"I must apologize, Harry," began Dumbledore. Harry looked up, perplexed.

"When I left you on their doorstep, I believed that Petunia would have moved past her estrangement with her sister. But it was the only place I knew you would be safe. But I realized, of course, what was occurring upon hearing various reports from Hagrid and the Weasleys. If I had known how they would treat you, I might have made different arrangements, or at the very least, supervised the Dursleys more closely."

"It's not your fault that the Dursleys are the way they are," said Harry, perplexed.

"I know, Harry. But I have regrets. I am not without fault, and it is good for me to remind myself of that simple fact."

They had arrived in the dingy alley once again, walking in silence.

"Where are we headed now, sir?" Harry asked.

"To Hogwarts."

Harry grabbed Dumbledore's arm, and the world spun. When it stopped, Harry found that his feet were set on the path that led to the front gates of Hogwarts. It was a beautiful day.

When they reached the gates, Dumbledore murmured something under his breath — Harry imagined it was a magical password of some sort that was necessary to gain entry.

Walking down the familiar halls, the pair made their way to Dumbledore's office. Harry couldn't wait until he would be wandering these corridors on a regular basis when school started.

When they reached the gargoyle, Dumbledore told it, "canary creams". Harry grinned; Fred and George ought to like that. At first, he wondered why Dumbledore needed the password — it was, after all, his office. He supposed it was a precaution, in case someone was to try and hoodwink it by using Polyjuice potion or who knows what else. _Maybe Malfoy was already planning that one_, thought Harry. A revolving staircase ride later they came to the familiar circular office. Harry began to feel uncomfortable once again. Memories of his last meeting with Dumbledore here swam to the forefront of his mind, although the newly repaired trinkets and instruments left no evidence of this. It had not been his finest moment.

Dumbledore swept around his desk to take his place as Harry sat down in his usual seat across from him. The older wizard looked at the younger one solemnly; the customary twinkle in his eye absent. "I know I owe you an explanation, Harry," he said. "You may ask all that your heart desires."

Harry had no idea what to ask. "You knew they would attack Privet Drive," he began slowly. Dumbledore bowed his head in acknowledgement. "But doing anything or if they found out we knew beforehand would put a member of the Order in danger, so it was best to let everything play out."

"That is correct."

There was only one thing that would make sense of all of this, and it had been prickling at the back of his mind. So he asked the question that he was burning to ask. "It was Snape, wasn't it?"

Dumbledore's reticence was answer enough for Harry. "Wasn't it?" he repeated gently.

"Yes," Dumbledore said after a while, not even bothering to correct Harry to say 'Professor' Snape. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about this. He knew the risk had been considerably higher for Snape than for him, but still, it was Snape. Harry still held great bitterness for that particular man and didn't entirely trust him, either.

"It may be best for me to show you, rather than explain. Words so often fail us, no matter how our list of them grows." He stood up and walked over to one of his cabinets. When he returned, he was bearing a shallow stone basin etched with strange runes and symbols on its rim. Setting it upon his desk he said, "You'll remember what this is?"

"Yes, sir."

"You look worried."

It was true, Harry had been eyeing the Pensieve with some apprehension. His previous experience with the odd, memory-storing device, though highly instructive, had also been disquieting. The last time he had disturbed its contents, he had seen much more than he would have wished. But Dumbledore was smiling gently.

"This time, you enter the Pensieve with permission. In here is a memory of my discussion with Professor Snape regarding the impending attack on Privet Drive. You may enter when you are ready."

Harry took out his wand and prodded the silvery substance, looking at Dumbledore one last time before diving into the Pensieve. He found himself in the same exact place he was standing just moments ago. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk; the only visible difference was that instead of the blue sky, only blackness could be seen from the window.

There was a knock on the door and Snape stepped through. Dumbledore offered him a candy as was customary but Snape, forestalling any introductions said urgently, "Headmaster, I have just returned from a meeting. There has been a significant development." Dumbledore's eyes sharpened, immediately alert. Apparently Snape was not one typically for dramatics, for this simple statement appeared to greatly concern the Headmaster. Although Snape did not appear short of breath, Harry had no doubt he had swept through the hallways even more swiftly than usual to impart this news to Dumbledore.

"It concerns Potter."

Dumbledore sat straighter and, if it was at all possible, even more rapt with attention.

"The Dark Lord is planning an attack on his summer residence with the Dursley's. He is attempting to 'test the limitations' of his newfound blood connection to Potter. This gives me reason to believe he will be successful. He believes that this ability will extend to his Death Eaters through the bond forged in our acceptance of the Dark Mark, thereby allowing us to circumvent the magical protection as well."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair in deep thought. He sat there for a long while and when he finally looked up, it was with defeat in his eyes.

"Surely you don't plan on allowing the Dark Lord to carry out this mission? Potter will be killed!" Snape said, outraged.

"Obviously Harry's death is not the result I am aiming for. But this is information I cannot act upon. Voldemort is already doubtful of your allegiance to him, you say. Our prior knowledge would all but confirm his suspicions. If we were to move Harry, you could no longer act as spy. It is imperative we keep that channel of communication open. This you know."

"I'm sure we can compose a reasonable explanation."

"No, Severus, it would be suspiciously coincidental, you know this to be true."

Snape shook his head in resentment.

Dumbledore sighed resignedly. "Severus, this is our only viable course of action. If there were any other way, I would take it, as I'm sure you are aware."

Snape stared at Dumbledore in challenge, but Dumbledore met his gaze calmly, yet unwaveringly. Sensing that the older wizard was not going to budge on this one, Snape seemed to give in. He went on to describe the tactics of Voldemort's plan, which Harry knew would later be carried out. He mentioned names that were familiar to him such as Avery, Nott, Rodolphus Lestrange, Crabbe, Goyle, and of course, Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. But he also listed others that Harry was unfamiliar with: Basel Gibbon, Quentin Jugson, and Hugh Hornby among a few others he didn't quite catch. Avery and Nott would provide a decoy of sorts, making it look as though they might just be a renegade pair who wished to gain their Lord's favor. Then two other groups would converge at different points, at the entrance door and from the second floor. Harry would later learn the names of those who had been caught and imprisoned, which he knew included Malfoy. Nott and Jugson were the others along with Rololphus. What Snape had explained was in accordance with what Harry remembered from the event. After a while he said, "We should include an additional patrol or two. Surely that would not arouse undue suspicion."

"I will be ready to respond, but we must proceed to react naturally, as we would have otherwise. We cannot risk arousing suspicion. It would be most perilous to you."

"I won't have anything to risk my life for if the Dark Lord succeeds," argued Snape sardonically, a statement which astonished Harry.

"I think not, they are experts; they will respond quickly. He is also a very brave and capable wizard himself," (here, Snape scoffed, but Dumbledore chose to ignore this). "Harry will be safe."

"I hope you are not mistaken, Albus."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Snape said, "When will Potter be informed? He must at the very least, be prepared." This statement was met with another tense silence. Dumbledore once again grew forlorn. The earlier look of indignation also returned to Snape's face. "You mean not to tell him." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Of course, Harry already knew the outcome, and so was not at all surprised with Dumbledore's decision. Still, it was rather unnerving to see the actual event unfolding before his very eyes in the office of the same man who had decided this fate for him.

Dumbledore sighed again and said, "You know as well as I that any information given to Harry is accessible to Lord Voldemort."

"Do you not think he has a right to know what will be happening? What you plan to do?" Snape asked in disbelief.

"I have a hard time believing that you actually care for what Harry does or does not deserve." Dumbledore went on to chastise Snape for the way he treated Harry and for the grudge Snape still bore against his father. But Snape still insisted on guaranteeing Harry's safety… _which I'd rather was not a lost cause_. If Harry hadn't heard and seen Snape himself utter these words in Dumbledore's memory, he would have never believed it.

"Everything will be fine, Severus," Dumbledore said, trying to reassure Snape.

"Are you certain, Albus?"

Dumbledore sighed. "In this life, nothing is certain. But I believe this is for the best."

"And you will explain this all to him?" Snape pushed once more.

Despite what Dumbledore had told him, Harry was still very shocked by Snape's adamant indignation in his resistance to Dumbledore's proposed idea. Of course, he was an experienced and well-practiced spy so he could just be putting on a front to hoodwink Dumbledore, but Harry thought even Snape could not be that good of an actor. Besides, he was much more subtle than that. But the question was _why_?

"I do not know why you are so persistent on this matter," said Dumbledore, who had to be thinking the same thing as Harry was now.

"I just don't think you should make decisions for someone and leave them in the dark only to be blindsided. He may not appreciate it," Snape said spitefully [1]. His face began to fade, along with Dumbledore's and the entire office. Suddenly, Harry was pulled out of the Pensieve and landed back in the office, which now looked closer to the one in the memory than before. Despite it being summer, the days were beginning to grow darker. He looked at Dumbledore who looked slightly apprehensive and the look of sorrow that painted his face in the memory had returned to the present. Harry didn't quite know what to say. Snape's behavior had more than surprised him. Dumbledore's answers to Snape's frustrations had also been somewhat disorientating.

"Understand, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, "that I do not care any more for Professor Snape's well-being than for your own."

Harry was ashamed to admit that that thought had briefly crossed his mind before he quickly dismissed the petty feeling. He still very much trusted Dumbledore; however, he realized how blindly he had been following him. He would need to be more perceptive and push the Headmaster for information when he felt it was necessary in the future.

"I believed the risk to you was minimal considering the circumstances, and that there was a far greater risk in not only losing Professor Snape as a spy, but his life. And Voldemort's reaction to this would be unpredictable; he may have even tried to possess you again. It may have put many people in danger. It certainly would have further complicated your task to defeat Lord Voldemort. But there was undeniably still a risk that you could have been killed or captured in the struggle. I rather thought you and the scheduled Order guards would be able to handle the situation, but that does not exempt me from accountability."

"I understand why you did what you did," Harry said, "I just hope you can be more open with me. I know I'm young, but you don't need to protect me. If I'm going to have to defeat Voldemort, I'm going to need to know those types of things and what's going on."

"I know, Harry. You are no longer a child, but I seem to forget that. Or maybe I just don't want to acknowledge that fact. You never did have a suitable childhood. But you deserve that much from me. I promise that from this moment onward, I will not guard you as I have in the past. Had I not made that mistake, certain events may have transpired more favorably. However, I still may not be able to answer all that you ask, but I will do my best. Again, I must ask for your patience."

"I understand," said Harry.

"Is there anything else you wish to know?"

"Why did _Snape_ want me to know?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry, and I suppose he believed you had a right to know. Of course, he was correct, but I didn't give you much of a choice. "

Harry very much doubted that Snape cared anything about that. "He probably just didn't think I could handle it."

"That is one possibility; however, I do not believe that to be the case. If Professor Snape believed you to be incompetent, I am sure he would have had no reservations to inform me more candidly." Well, that was true, thought Harry. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. Once again, Snape was causing him untold confusion. His penchant to act in conflicting ways really kept Harry on his toes.

"The motives behind his actions are never easy to determine; he has never been one for transparency." _That's for sure_. "Indeed, his wish for your awareness of the situation may have had nothing to do with you at all." That didn't make any sense. Why would Snape want Harry to know? It would only be a further risk to his being a spy. At Harry's look of bewilderment, Dumbledore said simply, "We may never know. And now, Harry, is there anything else you wish to know?"

"No, sir. Not yet."

"Again, I must impress upon you the distress this decision has caused me. I believe I made the best decision, but that does not mean it was an easy one. However, this is no excuse. I am sorry, Harry, that I put you in that position. But my sentiments mean little on the matter. I can only hope that you accept my apology." The anguish was clear on the old man's face, and Harry found him feeling sorry for Dumbledore.

"I can't forgive you, because there's nothing to forgive. You did what you had to do," Harry said truthfully. It looked as though Dumbledore's eyes were glassy; Harry ducked his head a little in embarrassment. But when he looked up, there were no more tears.

"Thank you, Harry. It is more than I deserve."

Harry shrugged noncommittally. After an uncomfortable silence, Dumbledore broke it to continue on to other matters that needed attention. "Then with that aside, let us begin. As you may be wondering, I did not drag you out here merely to beg your forgiveness. There are other things I wished to discuss with you."

"Does this have anything to do with my private lessons this year?" asked Harry.

"Yes, in a sense. You may be prophesied to ultimately defeat Lord Voldemort, but that by no means necessitates that you must do so alone," he said, pausing to peer at Harry over his spectacles. "That night Voldemort tried to kill you, he survived. This tells me that he has quite clearly found a way in which to become immortal. The question, is how?"

"Immortal?" Harry asked in growing dread. He knew something had kept Voldemort from dying, but Dumbledore was always adamant that the dark wizard could be defeated, so Harry assumed this was not so.

"Understand, Harry, all magic can be undone — with the obvious exception being death, and the Unforgivables have no counter. We may not have discovered how to reverse all things magical, but it is possible to find it, if only you look hard enough. I have been searching for Voldemort's secret so we can, at last, be free of him."

"Have you found anything, sir?"

"I have my suspicions. This is largely what our lessons together will entail. We must acquire a better understanding of Voldemort, if we are to defeat him."

"How are we going to do that, sir?" asked Harry.

"Through study. We will once again require the use of the Pensieve." Dumbledore opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a small glass vial containing some of the substance that Harry knew was made up of thoughts and memories. "I hold in my hands the memory of Bob Ogden."

"Who?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking. _Who was Bob Ogden and what did he have to do with Voldemort?_

"He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," said Dumbledore. "He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me. We are about to accompany him on a visit he made in the course of his duties."

"And you think this will help me against Voldemort?" he asked tentatively. "Does it have anything to do with the prophecy? Will it help me… survive?"

"It has a great deal to do with the prophecy," said Dumbledore, as casually as if Harry had asked him about the weather, "and I certainly hope that it will help you to survive."

Dumbledore stood and unstoppered the glass vial. "Understand," he said, "that from this point onward, we shall be leaving the firm foundation of fact and journeying together through the murky marshes of memory, into thickets of wildest guesswork. From here on in, Harry, I may be as woefully mistaken as Humphrey Belcher, who believed the time was ripe for a cheese cauldron."

"But you think you're right?" said Harry.

"Naturally I do, but as I have already demonstrated, I am as much immune to making mistakes as the next man. In fact, being — forgive me — rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly larger. And now, Harry, if you will stand, we will embark on our venture into Bob Ogden's memory." He tipped the silvery contents of the bottle into the Pensieve, where they swirled and shimmered. "After you, Harry," said Dumbledore, gesturing toward the bowl. Harry bent forward, instinctively breathing in, and plunged headfirst into the ethereal substance. He felt his feet leave the office floor; he was falling, falling through whirling darkness and then, quite suddenly, he was blinking in dazzling sunlight. Before his eyes had time to adjust, Dumbledore landed beside him.

They were standing in a country lane bordered by tall hedgerows beneath a bright blue summer sky. A few meters in front of them there stood a squat, podgy man wearing an odd combination of a frock coat and spats over a striped one-piece bathing outfit. This man being the only person in sight, Harry knew this must be Ogden. Ogden also wore enormously thick glasses that reduced his eyes to mole-like specks through which he read a wooden signpost poking out of the brambles to the side of the road. Harry barely had time enough to register Ogden's bizarre appearance before the man set off at a brisk pace down the lane as Dumbledore and Harry proceeded to follow in his wake.

As they passed the sign, Harry saw that they were evidently coming from the direction of Great Hangleton towards Little Hangleton, which the sign indicated was a mile away. The path dropped off suddenly to give them an unexpected view of a small village laid out in the valley below them. The steeple of a church and a graveyard were clearly visible. On the opposite hillside, a handsome manor surrounded by a vast expanse of velvety green lawn was visible. Ogden made his way down the hillside, breaking into a reluctant trot due to the steep downward slope. Dumbledore lengthened his stride to accommodate, and Harry hurried to keep up.

He guessed Little Hangleton must be their final destination and wondered as he had on the night he met Slughorn, why it was necessary to approach it from such a distance. But he soon realized that he was mistaken in his earlier assumption when the path turned sharply to the right. When they rounded the corner, it was to see the tail of Ogden's frock coat vanishing through a gap in the hedge.

Dumbledore and Harry followed him onto a crooked dirt track rife with ruts, bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. The steep and narrow path seemed to be heading for a dense patch of trees just ahead of them. Sure enough, the track soon opened up, and Dumbledore and Harry came to a halt behind Ogden, who had stopped to draw his wand out.

Despite the cloudless sky, the old trees overhead cast deep, dark, cool shadows, giving the place an unfriendly feel. It was a few seconds before Harry's eyes discerned the building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks. A very odd location to choose for a house, thought Harry, or else an odd decision to allow the trees and underbrush to grow unchecked. Moss covered the walls and the windows were covered in grime. The rafters were visible where the decaying roof tiles had fallen away. Once he concluded the overrun cottage must be abandoned and uninhabited, one of the windows was thrown open and billow of steam issued forth.

Ogden moved forward quietly and, it seemed to Harry, rather cautiously. As he moved into the dark shadows of the trees, he froze again, staring at the front door to which somebody had nailed a dead snake. There was a rustle and a crack, and a man in ragged garments dropped from the nearest tree, landing on his feet in front of Ogden who leapt backward so quickly he stood on the tails of his frock coat and stumbled.

"You're not welcome here."

The man standing before them had thick hair so matted with grunge it could have been any color. Several of his teeth were missing, and his small, dark eyes stared in opposite directions. He might have looked comical had the effect not been so frightening; Harry could not blame Ogden for backing away several more paces before timorously speaking, "Er — good morning. I'm from the Ministry of Magic —"

"You're not welcome."

"Er — I'm sorry — I don't understand you," said Ogden nervously.

Harry thought Ogden was being extremely dense; the stranger was making himself very clear in Harry's opinion, particularly as he was brandishing a wand in one hand and a short, not to mention, bloody knife in the other.

"You understand him, I'm sure, Harry?" said Dumbledore quietly. "Yes, of course," said Harry, slightly nonplussed. "Why can't Ogden —?"

But as his eyes found the dead snake on the door again, he suddenly understood.

"He's speaking Parseltongue."

"Very good," Dumbledore said approvingly, nodding and smiling.

The unsanitary man began to advance upon Ogden.

"Now, look —" Ogden began too late. There was a bang, and Ogden fell to the ground, clutching his nose as a nasty yellowish goo spurted from between his fingers.

"Morfin!" boomed a loud voice.

An elderly man had come hurrying out of the cottage, banging the door behind him, which caused the dead snake to sway pitifully. Shorter than the first man and oddly proportioned, this man had broad shoulders and overly long arms which, combined with his bright brown eyes, straggled hair and wrinkled face, reminded Harry of the Neanderthals depicted in the textbooks from Muggle school. He stopped beside the man with the knife, who was now cackling with laughter at the sight of Ogden on the ground.

"Ministry, is it?" inquired the older man coolly, looking down at Ogden and not seeming to take notice of the unfortunate man's dilemma.

"Correct!" said Ogden angrily, holding his face. "And you, I take it, are Mr. Gaunt?" he said, his voice was nasally from being partially plugged.

"'S right," said Gaunt nonchalantly. "Got you in the face, did he?"

"Yes, he did!" snapped Ogden. "Obviously…" he muttered beneath his breath so that Harry could just barely make out what he said.

"Should've made your presence known then, shouldn't you?" said Gaunt aggressively. "This is private property. Can't just walk in here and not expect my son to defend himself."

"Defend himself against what, precisely?" said Ogden, clambering back to his feet.

"Busybodies. Intruders… Muggles and filth," he finished menacingly. Ogden pointed his wand at his own nose, which was still issuing large amounts of what looked like yellow pus, and the flow stopped at once. Mr. Gaunt spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Morfin. "Get in the house. Don't argue."

This time he was ready for it. Harry recognized the Parseltongue; even while he could understand what was being said, he distinguished the weird hissing noise that was all Ogden could hear. Harry wondered vaguely if Dumbledore learned to understand Parseltongue. On the verge of disagreeing, Morfin seemed to think better of it when his father cast him a threatening look and lumbered away to the cottage with an odd rolling gait, slamming the door behind him so that the snake swung sadly again.

"It's your son I'm here to see, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, flicking his wand to clean the pus from his front. "That was Morfin, wasn't it?"

"Aye, that was Morfin," said the old man indifferently. "You pure-blood?" he asked, suddenly aggressive.

"That's neither here nor there," said Ogden coldly, and Harry felt his respect for Ogden rise. Apparently Gaunt felt rather differently. He squinted into Ogden's face, and said accusatorily, "Now I come to think about it, I've seen noses like yours down in the village."

"I don't doubt it, if your son's been let loose on them," quipped Ogden. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside?"

"Inside?"

"Yes, Mr. Gaunt. As I've already told you, I'm here regarding Morfin. We sent an owl —"

"I've no use for owls," said Gaunt. "I don't open letters."

"Then you can hardly complain about receiving no warning of visitors," said Ogden tartly. "I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law, which occurred here in the early hours of this morning —"

"All right, all right, all right!" bellowed Gaunt. "Come in the bleeding house, then, and much good it'll do you!"

The house contained three diminutive rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as kitchen and living room combined. Morfin was sitting in a filthy armchair beside the smoking fire, twisting a live adder between his thick fingers and crooning softly at it in Parseltongue:

_Hissy, little snakey,_

_Slither on the floor_

_You be good to Morfin_

_Or he'll nail you to the door._

There was a scuffling noise in the corner beside the open window, and Harry realized that there was somebody else in the room, a girl whose tattered gray dress was the same color as the dirty stone wall behind her. She was standing beside a steaming pot on a grimy black stove. Her hair was lank and dull and she had a plain, pale, rather glum face. One of her eyes pointed slightly outwards, but the effect was less severe than her brother's. She looked a little cleaner than the two men, but Harry thought he had never seen a more defeated-looking person.

"M'daughter, Merope," said Gaunt grudgingly, as Ogden looked inquiringly toward her.

"Good morning," said Ogden.

She did not answer, but with a frightened glance at her father turned her back on the room, arranging the pots and pans that hung above the stove.

"Well, Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden, "to get straight to the point, we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night."

There was a deafening clang; Merope had dropped one of the pots.

"Pick it up!" Gaunt bellowed at her. "That's right, grub on the floor like some filthy Muggle! What's your wand for, you useless sack of muck?"

"Mr. Gaunt, please!" said Ogden in a scandalized voice, as Merope flushed blotchily scarlet, and tried to pick up the pot, but couldn't seem to grip it. Instead, she drew her wand shakily from her pocket and pointed it at the pot, muttering a hasty, inaudible spell that caused the pot to shoot across the floor away from her, hit the opposite wall, and crack in two.

"Mend it, you worthless lump, mend it!" Gaunt cried as Morfin laughed unkindly at his sister. Merope stumbled across the room, but Ogden lifted his own and firmly said, "Reparo," mending the pot instantly. Gaunt looked for a moment as though he was going to shout at Ogden, then settling instead for jeering at his daughter, "Lucky the nice man from the Ministry's here, isn't it? Perhaps he'll take you off my hands. Perhaps he doesn't mind dirty Squibs…"

Without looking at anyone or thanking Ogden, Merope picked up the pot and returned it with trembling hands to its shelf. She then stood stock still with her back to them, as though she wished for nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear.

"Mr. Gaunt," Ogden began again, "as I've said, the reason for my visit —"

"I heard you the first time!" snapped Gaunt. "And so what? Morfin gave a Muggle a bit of what was coming to him — what about it, then?"

"Morfin has broken Wizarding law," said Ogden sternly.

"'Morfin has broken Wizarding law.'" Gaunt imitated Ogden's voice, making it pompous and singsong, instigating Morfin's snickering again. "He taught a filthy Muggle a lesson. That's illegal now, is it?"

"Yes," said Ogden. "I'm afraid it is."

He pulled a small scroll of parchment from inside his pocket and unrolled it.

"What's that, then, his sentence?" said Gaunt, his voice rising angrily.

"It is a summons to the Ministry for a hearing —"

"Summons! Summons? Who do you think you are, summoning my son anywhere?"

"I'm Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad," said Ogden.

"And you think we're scum, do you? Vermin who'll come running whenever the Ministry tells 'em to? Do you know who you're talking to, you filthy little Mudblood, do you?"

"I was under the impression that I was speaking to Mr. Gaunt," Ogden said wearily. Harry was sure that Ogden had no Muggle background, wearing the strange assortment of clothes so often chosen by inexperienced wizards trying to match the appearance of Muggles as he was.

"That's right!" roared Gaunt. For a moment, Harry thought Gaunt was making an obscene hand gesture, but then realized that he was showing Ogden the ugly, black-stoned ring he was wearing on his middle finger. "See this? See this? Know what it is?" he asked, waving the ring in front of Ogden's face. "Know where it came from? Centuries it's been in our family, that's how far back we go, and pure-blood all the way! Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?"

"I've really no idea," said Ogden, blinking as the ring sailed within an inch of his nose, "and it's quite beside the point, Mr. Gaunt. Your son has committed —"

With a howl of rage, Gaunt ran toward his daughter. For a split second, Harry thought he was going to throttle her as his hand flew to her throat; he dragged his daughter toward Ogden by a gold chain around her neck.

"See this?" he roared at Ogden, shaking a heavy gold locket at him, while Merope spluttered and gasped for breath.

"I see it, I see it!" said Ogden hastily.

"Slytherin's!" yelled Gaunt. "Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants, what do you say to that, eh?"

"Mr. Gaunt, your daughter!" said Ogden in alarm, but Gaunt had already released Merope; she staggered away from him, back to her corner, massaging her neck and gulping for air.

"So!" said Gaunt triumphantly, as though he had just proved a complicated point beyond all possible dispute. "Don't you go talking to us as if we're dust on your shoes! Generations of purebloods, wizards all — more than you can say, I don't doubt!"

"Mr. Gaunt," said Ogden doggedly, "I am afraid that neither your ancestors nor mine have anything to do with the matter in hand. I am here because of Morfin, and the Muggle he accosted late last night. Our information" — he glanced down at his scroll of parchment — "is that Morfin performed a jinx or hex on the said Muggle, causing him to erupt in highly painful hives."

"Be quiet, boy," snarled Gaunt in Parseltongue, as Morfin sniggered.

"And what if he did, then?" Gaunt said defiantly to Ogden, "I expect you've wiped the Muggle's filthy face clean for him and his memory to boot —"

"That's hardly the point, is it, Mr. Gaunt?" said Ogden. "This was an unprovoked attack on a defenseless —"

"Ar, I had you marked out as a Muggle-lover the moment I saw you," sneered Gaunt as he spat on the floor at Ogden's feet.

"This discussion is getting us nowhere," said Ogden firmly. "It is clear from your son's attitude that he feels no remorse for his actions." He glanced down at his scroll of parchment again. "Morfin will attend a hearing on the fourteenth of September to answer the charges of using magic in front of a Muggle and causing harm and distress to that same Mugg —"

Ogden broke off. The jingling, clopping sounds of horses and loud, merry voices were drifting in through the open window. The winding lane must pass close by the house. Gaunt froze, listening, his eyes wide. Morfin hissed and turned his face toward the sound with a hungry look on his face. Merope raised her head, her face as white as a blank sheet of paper.

"My God, what an eyesore!" rang out a girl's voice. "Couldn't your father have that hovel cleared away, Tom?"

"It isn't ours," said a young man's voice. "Everything on the other side of the valley belongs to us, but that cottage belongs to a rogue old man called Gaunt and his children. The son's quite mad, you should hear some of the stories they tell in the village —"

The girl laughed and it was clear from her increasing volume that they were approaching closer to the house. "Keep your seat," said his father warningly, in Parseltongue in response to Morfin who looked ready to pounce out of his seat.

"Tom," came the girl's voice again, "I might be wrong — but has somebody nailed a snake to that door?"

"Good lord, you're right!" said the man's voice. "How crude! That'll be the son; I told you he's not right in the head. Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling," he said, his voice sounding more distant this time, and the assembly of sounds began to fade away.

"'Darling,'" whispered Morfin in Parseltongue, looking at his sister. "'Darling', he called her. So he wouldn't have you anyway." Merope looked ready to faint.

"What's that?" said Gaunt sharply, also in Parseltongue, looking from his son to his daughter. "What did you say, Morfin?"

"She likes to look at that Muggle," said Morfin, a vicious expression on his face as he sneered at his sister, who now looked terrified. "Always in the garden when he passes, peering at him through the hedge, isn't she? And last night —"

Merope shook her head jerkily, imploringly, but Morfin went on ruthlessly, "Hanging out of the window waiting for him to ride home, wasn't she?"

"Hanging out of the window to look _at a Muggle_?" Gaunt repeated to himself quietly.

All three of the Gaunts seemed to have forgotten Ogden, who was looking both bewildered and irritated at this renewed outbreak of incomprehensible hissing and rasping.

"Is it true?" said Gaunt in a deadly voice, advancing a step or two toward the terrified girl. "My daughter — pure-blooded descendant of Salazar Slytherin — hankering after a filthy, dirt-veined Muggle?"

Merope shook her head frantically, pressing herself into the wall, incapable of speech.

"But I got him, Father!" thundered Morfin proudly. "I got him as he went by and he didn't look so pretty with hives all over him, did he, Merope?"

"You nasty little Squib, you filthy little blood traitor!" roared Gaunt, losing control, and his hands closed around his daughter's throat.

Both Harry and Ogden shouted "No!" at the same time. Ogden raised his wand and cried, "Relashio!"

Gaunt was thrown backward, away from his daughter. With a roar of rage, Morfin leapt out of his chair and ran at Ogden, brandishing his bloody knife and firing hexes indiscriminately from his wand.

Ogden ran for his life. Dumbledore indicated that they ought to follow and Harry obeyed, Merope's screams echoing in his ears.

Ogden hurtled up the path and erupted onto the main lane, his arms over his head, where he collided with the glossy chestnut horse ridden by a very handsome, dark-haired young man. Both he and the pretty girl riding beside him on a gray horse roared with laughter at the sight of Ogden, who bounced off the horse's flank and set off again, his frock coat flying, fleeing frantically up the road and away from the Gaunts'.

"I think that will do, Harry," said Dumbledore. He took Harry by the elbow and tugged. Suddenly, they were both soaring through darkness and then landing squarely on their feet back in Dumbledore's office.

"What happened to the girl in the cottage?" said Harry at once, "Merope, or whatever her name was?"

"Oh, she survived," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk and indicating that Harry to do the same. "Ogden Apparated back to the Ministry and returned with reinforcements within minutes. Morfin and his father attempted to retaliate, but both were overpowered, removed from the cottage, and subsequently convicted by the Wizengamot. Morfin, who already had an extensive record of Muggle attacks, was sentenced to three years in Azkaban. Marvolo, who had injured several Ministry employees in addition to Ogden, received six months."

"Marvolo?" Harry repeated in wonderment.

"I am glad to see you're keeping up," remarked Dumbledore, smiling in approval.

"So that old man was —?"

"Voldemort's grandfather, yes," said Dumbledore. "Marvolo, his son, Morfin, and his daughter, Merope, were the last of the Gaunts, a very ancient Wizarding family noted for a vein of instability and violence that flourished through the generations. Many believe this may be due to their habit of supposedly marrying their own cousins. Lack of sense coupled with a great liking for grandeur, the family gold was squandered several generations before Marvolo was born. He, as you saw, was left in squalor and poverty, with a very nasty temper, a tremendous amount of arrogance and pride, and a couple of family heirlooms that he treasured just as much as his son, and rather more than his daughter."

"So Merope," said Harry, leaning forward in his chair and staring at Dumbledore, "Merope was… does that mean… _she_ was Voldemort's mother?"

"It does," said Dumbledore. "And it so happens that we also had a glimpse of Voldemort's father. I wonder whether you noticed?"

"The Muggle Morfin attacked? The man on the horse?" He remembered Voldemort's disdain for his Muggle father.

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, beaming. "Yes, that was Tom Riddle senior, the handsome Muggle who used to go riding past the Gaunt cottage and for whom Merope Gaunt cherished a secret, burning passion."

"And they ended up together?" Harry said in disbelief, unable to imagine two people less likely to fall in love.

"I think you are forgetting," said Dumbledore, "that Merope was a witch. I do not believe that her magical powers appeared to their best advantage whilst she was being terrorized by her father. Once Marvolo and Morfin were safely in Azkaban — once she was alone and free for the first time in her life — I believe she was then able to give full rein to her abilities and to plot her escape from the desperate life she had led for eighteen years." Dumbledore paused for a moment then asked, "Can you not think of any measure Merope would have taken to make Tom Riddle forget his Muggle companion, and fall in love with her instead?"

"The Imperius Curse?" Harry suggested. "Or a love potion?"

"Very good. Personally, I am inclined to think that she used a love potion. I am sure it would have seemed more romantic to her, and I do not think it would have been very difficult to persuade Riddle, perhaps when he was riding alone on a hot day, to take a drink of water. In any case, within a few months of the scene we have just witnessed, the village of Little Hangleton enjoyed a remarkable scandal. You can imagine the gossip it caused when the squire's son ran off with the tramp's daughter, Merope.

But the villagers' shock was nothing to Marvolo's. He returned from Azkaban, no doubt expecting to find his daughter dutifully awaiting his return with a hot meal on the table waiting for him. Instead, he found a thick coat of dust and her note of farewell.

From all that I have been able to discover, he never mentioned her name or existence from that time forth. The shock of her desertion may have contributed to his early death — or perhaps he had simply never learned to feed himself. Azkaban had greatly weakened Marvolo, and he did not live to see Morfin return to the cottage."

"And Merope? She — she died, didn't she? Didn't Voldemort grow up in an orphanage?"

"Yes, indeed," said Dumbledore. "We must do a certain amount of guessing here, although I do not think it is difficult to deduce what happened. You see, within a few months of their runaway marriage, Tom Riddle reappeared at the manor in Little Hangleton without his wife. Rumors in the neighborhood told that he was speaking of being 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in.' What he meant, I am sure, is that he had been under an enchantment that had now lifted, though I daresay he did not use those precise words for fear of being thought insane. The villagers, however, interpreted this to mean that Merope had lied to Tom Riddle, pretending that she was pregnant with his baby, and that he had married her for this reason."

"But she did have his baby."

"Not until a year after they married. Tom Riddle left her while she was still bearing his child."

"What went wrong?" asked Harry. "Did he become resistant to the love potion?" Harry knew that bacteria had this ability (his Aunt Petunia had subsequently dumped all of their hand-soap down the drain and purchased generic soap after watching a newscast special about superbugs), but the potion was magical so he wasn't sure.

"Again, this is speculation," said Dumbledore, "but it is my belief that Merope, who was deeply in love with her husband, could not bear to continue enslaving him by magical means. I believe that she made the choice to stop giving him the potion. Perhaps, besotted as she was, she had convinced herself that he would by now have fallen in love with her in return. Perhaps she thought he would stay for the baby's sake. If so, she was wrong on both counts. He left her, never saw her again, and never troubled to discover what became of his son."

It was now quite dark outside, and almost the time Mrs. Weasley would be setting dinner on the table.

"I think that will be all for today, Harry," said Dumbledore after a moment or two. "I will be returning to Headquarters with you. There is a meeting this evening for the Order." He paused shortly then continued to say, "I am inclined to let you sit in on the meeting, after all, it is you who are at the center of this battle." Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it. "My only hesitation is that this information might unknowingly be divulged if your mind is still susceptible to Lord Voldemort."

Harry felt his earlier optimism sink. He had never mastered Occlumency. It was a risk he couldn't take. If Voldemort somehow found out about the Order's plans, or worse, the location of headquarters…

"I want to learn," Harry said decisively. "I want to learn Occlumency."

Dumbledore searched him for a moment then said, "I believe I should instruct you on how to defend your mind, but if you wish to begin this summer," he continued, "I'm afraid I will not be able to help you." Now Dumbledore paused even longer before choosing his words carefully. "Professor Snape, however, would probably be able to. And if he was willing, and you would agree to —"

"I'll do it, sir. Anything. I'll be on my best behavior. I promise."

Dumbledore smiled, "There's a good man. I'm sure if you ask him in sincerity he may oblige. It is important, I think, for you to learn this skill. I will still help you when I can, of course."

"I understand, sir. You're very busy. And anyways, it's probably good for me get a couple different perspectives, and fight off different people. I think he would be more… hostile which would probably be good practice for me."

Dumbledore's smile grew wider. "A very good observation, Harry. It could indeed help to better prepare you for encounters of the mind with Lord Voldemort. I am glad you are beginning to view this matter in a different light. And now, time presses on. Shall we go?"

"Yes, sir."

"I think the floo will work in this instance," said Dumbledore, who was grabbing a pot full of the glittering powder. He pointed his wand at the grate, conjuring a merry, crackling fire. "After you, Harry." Harry took a pinchful of the Floo dust and threw it into the fire; emerald flames shot up in a blaze and Harry stepped in saying clearly, "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place!"

"Oof!" Harry fell to the floor with a huff and soon Dumbledore was also exiting the fireplace with much more grace. He stooped to help Harry up. "Thanks," he murmured. He had never properly learned to land out of the floo, or portkeys… or pretty much any form of magical transportation besides a broom.

Before they joined the others, Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Sir, am I allowed to tell Ron and Hermione everything you've told me?"

Dumbledore considered him for a moment, and then said, "Yes, I think Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have proved themselves trust-worthy. But I must ask that you see to it that this does not get to anyone else. It would not be a good idea if word got around how much I know, or suspect, about Lord Voldemort's secrets."

"No, sir, I'll make sure it's just Ron and Hermione. They won't tell anybody."

"Very well, then. I will see you after the meeting, Harry," Dumbledore said when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Harry was going up to tell everything to Ron and Hermione.

"Yes, sir."

Dumbledore continued down the hallway to the dining room where Harry knew the Order held their meetings.

It was with some regret that Harry realized he couldn't tell Ginny, who was with Ron and Hermione, he felt a little guilty for keeping her in the dark. He would have to tell Ron and Hermione later.

Mrs. Weasley called them down for dinner, signaling the end of the meeting.

"You're sure you won't stay for dinner?" Harry heard Mrs. Weasley asking politely once he arrived at the landing atop the first flight of stairs.

"Yes. Thank you, but I am sure," came a drawling voice with a touch of impatience.

Harry hurried down to the bottom, quickly telling his friends, "Go on, I need to take care of something," in passing, leaving Ron looking extremely confused and Ginny less so than curious. Hermione, however, gave a nod of her head in encouragement, beckoning Harry towards Snape who was sweeping his way to the front door.

"Wait! Professor, sir," he said using as many honorifics as possible in hopes of minimizing Snape's potentially abysmal mood at being accosted in such a manner. Particularly by someone by the name of Harry Potter.

Harry almost aborted the idea entirely when Snape spun around and gave him a particularly nasty look. "What, Potter?" he said none too kindly.

"Er…"

"Today, Potter!"

"Well," he began, unsure of how to maneuver around Snape's irritation, "I don't know if Dumbledore told you about what happened this summer. About my scar…"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "If you are looking for sympathy, you came to the wrong person. The others may dote on you, but I will give you no such attention. Surely even you have figured that out by now," he sneered sardonically, turning again to the door.

"No! That's not what —" Harry sighed and took a deep breath. It was imperative that he keep his cool. "I think I had a vision."

"You _think_?" Snape replied disdainfully.

"Yes," answered Harry, gritting his teeth and fighting back the impulse to snap back with his own angry retort. "I'm sure of it. It was something important," he rushed to say, attempting to curb Snape's skepticism. Again, he couldn't explain how he knew, but he was certain it was right when the words left his mouth. He had stopped trying to rationalize things when it came to Voldemort.

"And?"

"And you can go into my mind. It'll be there if I'm right. You can help me recover the vision from my memory and see if the Order can use the information."

"Why have you come to _me_ with this matter?" Was Snape just trying to goad him? Harry thought he had made that quite clear. "Were you not with the Headmaster for the better part of today?" Snape elaborated.

Of course, Dumbledore knew Legilimency, too. They had even broached the topic of Occlumency (which Harry still had to discuss with Snape). How could he not seen that one? But he had already asked him, and had prepared to have Snape enter his mind. There was no reason to ask Dumbledore unless Snape refused. He had trust issues with him, but he was in the Order and would find out anyway. Harry wasn't going to cower away from this like an intimidated first year. True, he could ask Dumbledore, but that would almost seem like forfeiting a challenge.

"Observant as ever, I see," he sneered once more and again turned to leave.

"I've already asked you. Will you help me or not?"

Snape turned and considered him carefully. "Is that what you wish, Potter?"

"I just want to find out what this vision is about."

"And you have no idea what it concerns?"

"Just that it's Voldemort."

"Yes, astonishing as this may be to you, I discerned that much. The rest of us are not so lacking in analytical skills."

Harry bit back his anger and continued to explain, "I don't think it's about me — at least, not directly."

"Have it your way, Potter. Legilimens!" he shouted without warning and Harry's first instinct was to fight back. He reminded himself not to, as that would only complicate the process. _He could have at least warned me_.

Harry was soon whirring through various memories, all of them including Voldemort. He was sure Dumbledore would have sifted through his mind in a way that would cause Harry less discomfort, but it wasn't as bad as his sessions with Snape last year.

There was Voldemort last year battling Dumbledore at the Ministry of Magic, Voldemort in Harry's first year in the back of Quirrel's head, Voldemort in the graveyard, rising from the ashes…

Snape pushed these memories aside as he searched for Harry's vision.

And there it was; something different. Something Harry had no cognizance of seeing before, but obviously had.

He watched in horror as he realized that Voldemort had obviously been taking more steps to validate his immortality. With the elation which did not belong to him that Harry had felt earlier this summer in the park, Voldemort had to be close. This vision confirmed that he had indeed found something. Something that could possibly be even more reliable than the horcruxes Harry had only just learned about by the sounds of it.

When Snape exited his mind, he barely noticed. For a moment, Harry looked at Snape who registered the significance of what they had just witnessed; no doubt it reflected the look on Harry's own face.

"I must see the Headmaster at once," Snape said curtly.

"This means I need to learn Occlumency," prompted Harry, looking at Snape meaningfully. "I've already asked Dumbledore, and he can help when school starts, but he's very busy."

"And I, a lowly teacher, could not possibly be so preoccupied by other duties?"

There he went putting words into Harry's mouth again. "I didn't assume you'd be able to. That's why I'm asking you," he said a bit more testily this time. "I thought, between the two of you, I'd be able to learn faster," he hurried to explain before Snape could interrupt him again, or reject him. But Harry knew there was something else he must do first. "And Dumbledore won't be able to help me during the summer, and I want to start now. The sooner the better. Also, I figured it'd be good to get different perspectives. And you'd probably be more… aggressive than Dumbledore. More like…" he stopped short.

"More like the Dark Lord?" Snape finished.

Well, Harry had walked right into that one, hadn't he? "I just meant, more like what I'll be facing. I mean, they're going to be invading my mind, aren't they?" Of course, by 'they', Harry did mean Voldemort, but he hadn't been trying to imply that Snape was like Voldemort, as much as he disliked him. That would be taking it too far. Fortunately, and amazingly to Harry, Snape didn't seem to be upset. "It is true that Dumbledore's offensive will drastically differ from mine. I am surprised you had the wits enough to perceive as much." Harry wasn't sure whether to take that as a compliment or not. Snape never seemed to hand out any that weren't backhanded.

Snape considered him pensively. Harry took advantage of this time to say what he had intended to tell him. "Sir, I'll try harder this time. Last year, part of me wanted to see what was happening, because I thought Dumbledore was keeping me in the dark. I thought it could be useful. But I know now that it's too dangerous." And too late, Harry added in his mind. "And… I'm sorry for looking in the Pensieve. I thought it had something to do with me and Voldemort. I was just so frustrated with not knowing what was going on. There is no excuse for what I did, but I was looking to find anything about Voldemort, I didn't think it would be personal. I… It's not like I enjoyed it or anything," he muttered. In fact he had been terrified to learn that perhaps Snape had been right all along about his father. "I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry," he said again looking down, unable to look Snape in the eyes any longer. When Snape didn't say anything for a long time, Harry forced himself to look up. Snape betrayed no emotion which was unsettling for Harry. He had no idea what was going through Snape's mind. He thought he would be less uncomfortable even if Snape seemed angry that Harry was bringing this up. Now he felt like he was being scrutinized under a microscope.

Finally, Snape spoke. "Thursday. Eight o'clock in the evening. Meet me down here. _Don't_ be late."

"Yes, sir."

With that Snape at last turned to leave, stepping smoothly out of the front door.

Harry exhaled the breath he had not realized he had been holding. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not.

He turned back to the kitchens where he heard Dumbledore in the middle of saying, "… and happened to chance across a magnificent room that remarkably resembled a rather charming countryside." When Harry entered the room, it was to see Hermione's reddening face. "Yes, that was me, sir," she managed to squeak out.

"Extraordinary," was all he said upon learning this information, to Hermione's immense surprise and relief. Harry wasn't surprised that Dumbledore wasn't mad. It might be against Wizarding law, but there was no harm in what she had done and he wasn't responsible for his students' misbehavior outside of school. Indeed, he seemed quite intrigued and asked her how she had utilized such advanced magic to create the room to which Hermione answered him somewhat nervously. On the other side of the room, Mundungus and the twins were laughing raucously while Mrs. Weasley seemed more interested in getting Tonks to sit next to Lupin.

But Harry barely paid attention to these developments or anything else at dinner, instead thinking of his request to Snape and wondering what he had gotten himself into.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 8:

Summer is over, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is starting up once again for the school year. It takes literally no time at all for unpredictable events to transpire. Harry's first night at Hogwarts is full of surprises and new mysteries.

"_It is during these times, when fear and uncertainty are at their peak, that people will discover they are capable of a great many things — be they for good, or for ill."_

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] I shortened some parts a bit, but this version of the conversation includes dialogue that I purposely omitted earlier (so I could surprise you, of course!), but if this sounds familiar, it should. If you want to read it in its entirety, I would recommend you click back to chapter 3. There's really not much more, but, there you have it.

A/N:

For my sequel, I promise summer won't take up as much space. But some important things happened and as this was my first story, even though I would use the first five books, I didn't want to dive right in. This is my story, so a lot still has to be explained. Some of my shortest chapters were in this time period as well, so I feel like it wasn't too long. And the pace is supposed start more slowly so it only makes sense that time elapses more slowly, right? Just go with it.

Signing off,

fanster


	9. An Eventful Return

I want to give a special thanks to **renessaincbooklover 108** who reviewed my story.

DISCLAIMER: You know the drill. I still don't own anything. Maybe next time I'll say that I do, just to check if you're still paying attention. ;) Maybe some of you believe this will change, which is why you keep reading this. I would certainly like that. All of the rights to Harry Potter, of course. Anyways, enough of that.

* * *

Chapter 8

An Eventful Return

It was here at last. September 1st had finally arrived and Harry could not be more pleased with this fact. He had had a long summer milling about Grimmauld Place. To cure his boredom, Harry would often make use of the magnificent room Hermione had conjured — he imagined he would have gone insane without it; he couldn't fathom how Sirius had managed it. Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to stay in the infamous house of Black once he was finished with school, but if he did, he would definitely be investing in some home entertainment gadgetry. The only time he was able to make it outside of the increasingly oppressive atmosphere generated by the dark abode was the couple of times he had visited his extended family at the hospital before they were eventually moved to Grimmauld Place. His aunt and uncle were clearly displeased with the arrangement. Of course, Harry couldn't blame them for their dislike of the house. They both kept to themselves and were only to be seen usually during mealtimes. Dudley was a bit more approachable and even talked to Harry and his friends some. Of course, he was probably just as bored as Harry. Still, Dudley didn't want to receive a lecture from his parents during their stay. It wouldn't be long before Dumbledore had set up a new place for them and assured them it was safe and protected. One day, he told them, they could move back to Privet Drive if they so desired.

True to his word, Snape had called at Grimmauld Place every Thursday at the intended time. Occlumency lessons with Snape were grueling, but Harry never complained. Still, it was extremely frustrating. He was trying as hard as he could, yet he was making almost as little progress as he was in his fifth year when had hadn't tried much at all. He felt stuck and no matter how hard Snape pushed him (which he was), he could never seem to breakthrough. Surprisingly, summer sessions with Snape were not as terrible as Harry had anticipated. They were, of course, no great joy — but his insults were far fewer and less acerbic than Harry was accustomed to in Potions class. And for the amount of progress (or lack thereof) that Harry was making, the Potions Master was being exceptionally patient (at least for him). He would still make snide remarks regarding Harry's ability to learn or something or other about wasted time, but nothing as incendiary so as to stoke Harry's ire — perhaps some of the Occlumency lessons were starting to rub in. Harry doubted it. His visions were not occurring frequently, but Harry didn't believe this was a product of his own improvement. Rather, it seemed as though Dumbledore had been right. Voldemort was employing Occlumency against him and only visions associated with potent emotion escaped through the link they shared.

He had seen Dumbledore only momentarily a handful of times, and had not yet resumed private lessons. Harry reckoned these would begin once school started up again.

Currently, the temporary residents of the household were scrambling to complete their last minute packing. It was raining, the last day of summer welcoming autumn in abrupt fashion. Moody and Tonks had brought a couple of Ministry cars to take to the station (they were to escort them down).

They all passed through the solid barrier that led to Platform 9 ¾ without any difficulty. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny bid farewell to the Weasley parents, Tonks and Mad-eye and boarded the Hogwarts Express.

"Shall we find a compartment?" asked Harry. They headed towards the back where an empty one could usually be found.

"Ginny!" sounded a female voice.

"I'll catch you guys later," said Ginny, going to join her friends. Sometime over the summer, Harry had forgotten that Ginny had her own friends at school, and didn't hang around with the three of them much. He had become used to having her around all of the time. Harry was a little disappointed. He had come to see her as a close friend during his fifth year and over the summer.

He, Ron and Hermione found an empty compartment and stowed their luggage. "We'll stay for a while, Harry," explained Hermione, "but then Ron and I have prefect duties."

"Oh, right," he said. He had completely forgotten about that. "Don't worry," he said to placate Hermione, "I'm sure I'll find something to do. Maybe I'll go look for Neville and Luna." He very much wanted to see them again; he hadn't seen either of them since the debacle at the Ministry.

They talked for a time, avoiding any mention of the war. "And you said you weren't sure how Professor Slughorn would be?" Hermione asked a tad anxiously.

"I didn't get an impression either way of how good of a teacher he would be," Harry shrugged.

"Well, he can't be much worse than who we've had in the past," said Ron. "The only good teacher we had was Lupin, and Moody was alright except he turned out to be a nutter who wasn't actually Moody. Of course," he added, "Lockhart was pretty good, don't you think, Hermione?" he said with a smirk.

"Oh, would you be quiet about that already! I was young and senseless, and I have absolutely no idea what I was thinking. And I wasn't the only one. Most of the other girls were even worse than I was. It was nothing more than the juvenile crush of an adolescent girl; which is more than can be said about your infatuation with Madame Rosmerta," she stabbed back.

"Okay, geez," said Ron holding his hands out defensively. "Touchy." Hermione glared. "And I am not 'infatuated' with Madame Rosmerta. I just think she looks nice. And I'm definitely not the only one who thinks that way either. Right, Harry?" he asked looking for help.

"Hmm," said Harry; he usually made a point to let his mind wander whenever Ron and Hermione began to bicker. "Yeah, I suppose she does look nice."

"But Harry doesn't act like an utter fool in front of her, does he?"

Now it was Ron's turn to scowl.

"How do you guys reckon classes will be this year?" Harry asked trying to change the topic.

"Well, we don't have any major tests this year, so I suppose it won't be as bad as last year," said Ron.

"Yes, but the classes will be more advanced," pointed out Hermione, "so though the workload might not be quite as heavy, I'm sure it will be more intensive." It definitely would be for Hermione who was taking seven classes: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Herbology, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes.

"But no more Potions!" exclaimed Ron, determined not to have his parade rained on. "Cheers to that. Well, no more Snape, really. Imagine that: a Snape-free year — at least in class." Ron sighed in apparent bliss. "For me, anyway, since you still have to do Occlumency lessons with him. I don't know how you manage it, Harry. And summer sessions, too? That must have been bloody awful. At least in Potions, there are other people. Being alone with Snape…" Ron shuddered at the thought.

"It wasn't that he was a horrible professor necessarily," said Hermione. "He's just very unfair. He's obviously very intelligent and capable of being a good teacher. If he only put more effort into actually teaching us rather than insulting us…" she finished cynically.

"Yeah, you have to wonder why he ever decided to become a teacher," agreed Ron. "I stand by what I said earlier, I think you're starting to go bonkers, Harry. Actually asking Snape to teach you?" he shook his head. "I'm sure Dumbledore would have done it for you."

"Dumbledore's already busy enough as it is and he's already giving Harry private lessons," Hermione responded. "I think it was a wonderful idea, Harry. It really makes sense. Everything you said about learning in a hostile environment."

"I wasn't saying it wasn't a good idea," Ron said defensively, "I'm just saying it must be a right pain in the —"

"So how _are_ lessons going, Harry?" said Hermione over Ron deliberately, effectively cutting him off.

"The same. But Snape hasn't been as bad as usual. He can still be a prig sometimes — that's to be expected, but he doesn't insult me all the time like he did in Potions. He's actually been relatively patient. Relatively being the key word, of course. He'll still make snarky comments here and there. Still, considering my lack of progress, I'm surprised he hasn't been worse," he said glumly.

"It's alright, Harry. Occlumency is a very difficult discipline to learn. As long as you keep trying, it'll come around," Hermione reassured him.

"But I _have_ been trying. And no matter how hard I try, I don't get any better. I mean, I've barely improved at all. Anytime it seems like I'm making any progress, I take another step back. I don't know if I'll ever be able to learn Occlumency. I'm not doing any better than last year when I wasn't really trying at all," lamented Harry, venting his frustrations.

"You can't give up, Harry! You're doing all you can, you just have to be patient," she urged.

"Well, like I said, maybe it's because Snape's just a terrible teacher," Ron hypothesized, trying to make Harry feel better. Hermione gave him a 'you aren't helping at all' look.

It felt like to Harry, they had had this conversation over and over again during the summer. He tried to remain optimistic, but he felt completely stuck. He was working relentlessly to finally learn the art of Occlumency, and even with Snape pushing him to the maximum, he didn't think he was any better than before he began their sessions this summer.

"So you say Snape has been better, why do you reckon he's done that?" asked Ron.

"To be completely honest, I have absolutely no idea. He was terrible to me since my first year, although he's toned that down quite a bit lately. But he still treats me like some misbehaving child. He was my father's archrival — and won't hesitate to remind me just how awful he was — but he's saved my life a couple of times already and has protected me. Despite all of that, I still don't know if I trust him. He used to be a Death Eater, but he changed his mind for reasons Dumbledore says are personal so he can't tell me. And he did want me to know about the attack. Although that might have been because he thought I was incompetent or something. Yeah, that's probably it," he listed off, speaking more to himself now. "He's got to be the most complicated man I've ever met," he finished seriously.

"Wait, he wanted you to know what, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, I didn't tell you about that?" He thought he had, but now, thinking back on it, he supposed he never did tell them. He had only planned on telling them. In the midst of everything else, he must have forgotten.

"Tell us what, Harry?" she asked warily.

Now he really wished he hadn't said anything. It was over and there was nothing any of them could do about it. What point was there in upsetting his friends over something that happened about a month ago? But he knew his friends wouldn't be satisfied with that answer. "Uh," he started, scratching the back of his neck nervously, "Dumbledore may have known that Privet Drive was going to be attacked in advance," he said all very quickly, applying the rip the bandage off strategy. "But it doesn't matter any —"

"He _what_?"

"Whoa."

As expected, they were none too pleased with this information.

"Look," he said desperately trying to abate the outburst that was sure to come, "It's not that —"

"Don't you _dare_ say this isn't a big deal, Harry James Potter, because it is!" Hermione said sternly.

"Well this just proves it," Ron said in awe. Harry and Hermione both looked at him nonplussed. "Dumbledore is officially off his rocker."

"This is not a laughing matter, Ron! Harry, I can't believe you didn't tell us this!" Hermione exclaimed.

"I must have just forgotten, I _did_ plan on telling you," Harry said a touch defensively this time.

"Oh yes, naturally, I completely understand how easy it would be to let something this horrendously trivial slip your mind," she said sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, I just —"

He was saved by Ernie MacMillan who had just opened their compartment door.

"Aren't you two coming?" he asked Ron and Hermione. Hermione looked at her watch and gave a start. "Oh, we're sorry, we just lost track of time." She turned to Harry, "And don't think that you're off the hook, Harry," she threatened. With that she turned on her heel and left, leaving Ernie look slightly confused. "Sorry, mate. I'll try and talk her down," said Ron and went to follow Hermione and Ernie. Harry wasn't entirely certain if this reassured him. Ron was equally likely to worsen Hermione's ire, not placate her.

He sighed and closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the pleasantly cool glass of the window. He supposed he should go and find his other friends; he didn't want to be alone with his own thoughts at the moment.

Luna and Neville, it seemed, were on the other side of the train as Harry had already passed through several compartments and had seen no signs of either of them. So far he had seen some of his fellow Gryffindors and members of the DA, who all greeted him enthusiastically. Aside from that, many would give him curious looks and some, particularly the younger ones, would point and stare in open amazement. The whispers followed him, too. No doubt many of them speculated about whether or not he was the 'Chosen One' having read the newspapers. He tried to ignore this as best he could. He did come across his dorm mates, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. They exchanged their summer tales and talked for a good while — Harry, obviously had to modify his summer narrative a bit. The Prophet hadn't found out about the attack on Privet Drive, thankfully.

This was getting ridiculous! Where were they? With Harry's luck they were probably on the completely opposite side of the train. He slid open the door to the next compartment and ran into — quite literally — Cho Chang.

"Oh, hi, Harry," she spoke nervously.

"Hi," he replied, feeling rather indifferent if truth be told.

There was an awkward pause.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around," Harry said. But she grabbed him gently by the arm.

"Harry, wait." He stopped and looked at her expectantly. "I'm sorry about last year, about Marietta and getting upset with you when you had every right to be angry. I honestly didn't think she was going to rat you out. I guess I should've been more careful knowing her mum worked for the Ministry. I also realize that I wasn't the easiest person to be around either. I'm not usually like that; I was an emotional wreck last year. And with everything that happened…" she took a deep breath. "Anyways, I really am sorry, Harry. And I hope that things can be alright between us."

Harry found that he was softening towards her as she offered her genuine apology. But he didn't feel the same way about her anymore. She was beautiful, no doubt, but she no longer gave him the butterflies in his stomach and he didn't feel that excitedly nervous fluttering in his heart anymore when he was around her. "I was wrong to be upset as I was with you, too. And I'm glad you told me all of this. I don't hold it against you anymore." He hesitated, "But I'm not sure —"

"Don't worry, Harry," she interceded quickly. "I don't mean it that way. I don't think it would be a good idea for us to go out with each other again. It's just, I really did like spending time with you and I thought, maybe, we could be friends?"

Harry was happy and relieved to hear this. "That sounds great, Cho," he smiled. She smiled, too. "I'll see you around, Harry."

As she left, Harry was extremely glad that things turned out this way. It didn't feel right to leave his relationship with Cho the way it was before. It had become frosty and uncomfortable, and although Harry didn't feel the same way about her, that had been disappointing. It was not productive to harbor those negative feelings, as slight as they were, so resolving this matter made Harry's heart feel a little lighter.

He tried the next compartment and was thankful that he had at last found the other two people who had shown him tremendous loyalty by accompanying him to the Ministry, at great risk to themselves. There was something niggling at the back of his mind — he had something he had to say to both Neville and Luna. They weren't doing much, and Neville looked slightly uncomfortable. In contrast, Luna looked completely at ease, that vaguely dreamy look — as always — present on her face. In her lap was a rather handsome black and white cat. When they both looked up and saw Harry, they smiled. "Hi, Harry, how's it going?" asked Neville. Harry noticed that he had gotten much taller and thinned out a lot since the last time he saw him. Summer had been kind to him [1].

"Good," said Harry.

"It's wonderful to see you again, Harry," announced Luna.

"It's great to see you two again, too," Harry grinned. "What's with the cat?" he asked.

"Oh, Daddy got it for me. The Quibbler is doing well, so he used the extra money to surprise me with Balthazar."

Balthazar, Harry presumed, was the cat's name. "That's nice."

"Yes, I was ever so happy when I found out. He is quite intelligent; he's very adept at detecting Wrackspurts, which is a very good thing. They're invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy."

Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. Neither, it seemed, was Neville, who said nothing and smiled nervously. But for Harry, Luna's capricious eccentricity was a refreshing change from the subdued and dreary mood everyone else seemed to be projecting.

"How was your summer?" Neville asked Harry, trying to sway the conversation away from Wrackspurts.

"Not too bad," Harry replied ambivalently, he didn't feel comfortable lying to either of them. "Look," he started as both of them focused on him more acutely, "I just wanted to thank you both… for coming to the Ministry and everything. You didn't have to do that."

"But we wanted to, Harry," insisted Neville. Luna bobbed her head in agreement.

"I know, but both of you could have died or been seriously hurt because of me," he said in shame. "And it turned out that we didn't even need to be there in the first place."

"Listen, Harry," Neville said adamantly, "no matter what happened, it wouldn't have been your fault. It was our choice to come with you, you didn't ask us."

"But I should have done more to stop you."

"You wouldn't have been able to stop us. We wanted to help you. We were going to come no matter what. It wasn't just your decision, Harry," Neville said confidently. Harry was a little taken aback. He had never heard Neville speak this way before.

Neville had suffered at the hand of Lord Voldemort as much as Harry had, but Neville had no idea how close he had come to inheriting Harry's fate. The prophecy could have referred to either of them, and yet Voldemort had singled out Harry.

Had Voldemort chosen Neville, it was possible that Neville would be the one with the lightning-shaped scar and the weight of the prophecy…

"If you blame yourself for everything, Harry, your mind won't be able to function properly," said Luna. "You'll explode — like a balloon. And that wouldn't be good," Luna stated seriously in her dreamy voice.

Well, that was one way of putting it, Harry thought.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," pleaded Neville.

Harry nodded, not sure he was completely convinced but saw no reason in arguing the point further. He stayed and talked with them, glad for the company.

When he left to go to the bathroom he saw something that piqued his interest. Draco Malfoy was leaving the area, probably on his way back to his Slytherin friends. If he were a Death Eater, he would no doubt be bragging to them all about it. This was a golden opportunity for Harry to test his theory once and for all. Peeking around him, he saw that he was alone. He threw his trusty invisibility cloak over him and followed Malfoy. Lucky for Harry, the compartment right before Malfoy's was deserted. He guessed that most people wanted to give the older Slytherins a wide berth. He didn't blame them. He reached into his pockets fishing for the — Yes! The extendable ears were still there. Ron had been trying to get him to listen in on some of the private Order meetings, but Harry took the ears and stowed them in his pockets, not wanting to risk any of the information getting to Voldemort. He was strangely grateful now that he only had one good pair of jeans. He pulled out his wand and tapped the ears, whispering the Disillusionment charm. Cautiously sliding one of the ears below the compartment door, he listened until he could hear the conversation. It didn't take long. He smiled to himself and settled on the bench close to the compartment door, hidden beneath his cloak.

"… I don't know, I think I should've told them not to cut it too short… What do you think, Draco?" asked Pansy as Malfoy walked in.

"It's fine, Pansy," Malfoy toned aloofly.

"So, Draco, got anything big planned for this year? Or are you saving it all up for next year?" asked Zabini.

"I may not even be at Hogwarts next year," said Malfoy. _What was this?_ Harry crept closer to the compartment window to have a look once sure he would not be interrupted.

"What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" Pansy cried indignantly.

"Well, you never know," said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. "I might have … ah … moved on to bigger and better things."

Crouched under his cloak, Harry's heart began to race. Oh, if only Ron and Hermione could hear this now! He realized he was leaning against the window in suspense. Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Malfoy; apparently they had had no inkling of any plans to move on to 'bigger and better things'. Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features. Pansy looked dumbfounded.

"Do you mean…"

Malfoy shrugged.

"And what do you think you can do for him?" Zabini asked condescendingly, "You're only sixteen and not even fully qualified yet."

"So? How often do you think the Dark Lord makes use of Hogwarts approved curriculum?" Malfoy sneered. "The jobs he wants done aren't going to be based on O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s."

"And how would you know this? Firsthand experience?" Zabini pressed. Harry held his breath; would Malfoy spill the beans?

When Malfoy didn't say anything and shrugged off Zabini's question, Harry saw that Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything quite so awe-inspiring.

"No way would he want a bunch of kids working for him. Why would you want a wizard who isn't qualified?" persisted Zabini. "Besides, you'll want to learn all you can before joining up with his crew… Your father certainly could have afforded to learn a thing or two more; then maybe he wouldn't find himself captured all of the time."

Pansy gasped.

"What did you say?" Malfoy shouted heatedly, leaping off his bench. Crabbe and Goyle reacted fast enough to stop Malfoy from charging towards Zabini. Both of them held him back, even though only one of them would clearly suffice, as big as they were. _Like ugly gorillas_, Harry thought. No doubt Zabini wouldn't want anything to blemish his pretty face. But he didn't look the least bit worried, and indeed slightly amused at the blond boy who was still snarling angrily at him.

Harry was surprised; he had never seen another Slytherin challenge Malfoy so boldly in public. He never liked Zabini, he came off as arrogant and disdainful — which he still was — but Harry found himself warming up to him.

"Relax, Draco," Zabini voiced lazily, "It was only a joke."

Malfoy sat back down, but was still fuming.

"Wow, I never realized you were so sensitive," Zabini remarked.

Malfoy had apparently had enough and stood up quickly.

"Draco, wait!" Pansy pleaded, grabbing a hold of his arm.

"Let go, Pansy!" Malfoy snapped authoritatively. She released him at once.

"Oh, come on, you can't take a joke, Draco?" Zabini teased as Malfoy stormed out of the compartment.

Harry flattened himself against the wall as Malfoy hurried out.

"You shouldn't have said that about his father, you really upset him!" came Pansy's indignant voice.

"He'll get over it," Zabini said dismissively.

"I'm going to go check on him," insisted Pansy.

"Don't," warned Zabini, "You really think he wants you chasing after him? Just leave him be," Harry heard Zabini say as he rolled up the Extendable Ear.

Harry imagined Pansy with a glowering pout on her face. But, apparently, she took Zabini's advice for she did not burst out of the compartment. No longer at the window, Harry could not see what was going on, but Crabbe and Goyle had said nothing the entire time, which was probably nothing out of the ordinary considering the two mammoth teens closely resembled possums when it came to their thinking organ; he suspected they still had gormless looks on their faces… more than usual that is.

Harry took Malfoy's departure as his cue to leave.

He hastened to follow him quietly, but Malfoy only returned to the bathroom. Harry gave a silent groan of frustration and decided it was high time to return to his compartment. There was clearly nothing more he would learn today. True, Malfoy had insinuated quite a lot which bolstered Harry's suspicions. But he still didn't have any concrete proof, which was what it would take to convince his friends. Still, it might get them to put more stock into his theory.

"What took you so long?" asked Neville when Harry returned.

"Ran into Malfoy," said Harry, telling part of the truth.

"Oh." That was enough of an answer for Neville, it seemed.

Harry lost track of time and to his surprise, Ron and Hermione burst in, already dressed in their school robes.

"There you are, mate. We've been looking all over for you!"

"We're almost to Hogwarts, Harry, you need to change," Hermione informed him. "Oh, hi Neville, hi Luna," she said seeming to only notice them now.

"Hi."

"Hello."

Hermione was right; he could see the castle now in the distance. "Come on, Harry," she urged.

He stood up. "Alright, see you later," he said to Neville and Luna who both nodded.

He decided not to tell Hermione and Ron about Malfoy, at least not yet.

They made their way back to their own compartment. "Hi, Ron," said a cheerful feminine sounding voice. They turned around to see Lavender Brown waving, with Parvati, as always, glued to her side. "Hi?" Ron said a little confused, but not displeased. They both giggled which Harry thought was quite odd. He turned to Hermione to wonder what was up with the two girls, but she looked rather stony-faced.

As per usual, they boarded the thestral-borne carriages that would take all of the students aside from the first years to the castle. Harry smiled when he could vaguely hear Hagrid's booming voice, calling for the 'firs' years'. He paused to rub the top of the horse-like creature's head. He had become quite fond of them. He didn't care if he looked foolish or if this behavior would worry his friends. Harry understood why their mark on death might perturb some, but they possessed their own alien grace and beauty. He felt eyes on him and looked up. They belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. Harry couldn't read his expression. Had he known that Harry had been spying on him somehow? Harry dispelled the thought, he was sure he had been careful. He realized how odd it would look to see someone apparently petting thin air, but Malfoy surely would have mocked him by now. Did this mean that Malfoy could see the thestrals, too? He hadn't been able to when Hagrid had presented them in class last year. Harry thought of the implications of this without getting too far ahead of himself. He didn't know for sure that Malfoy could see the thestral. Then the eyes were gone and Ron was yelling at him to hurry up. He joined his friends in the carriage and was now lost in deep thought.

"Are you alright, Harry?" he heard Hermione suddenly ask.

"Huh?" he started. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking," he added when Hermione didn't look convinced. Thankfully, she didn't press him further on the matter.

They all filed in and waited for the sorting. Harry was interested to hear what it had to say this year now that Voldemort had claimed open warfare, or if it even cared. McGonagall placed it along with the three-legged stool on which it stood at the center in front of the teacher's table. Everyone became still and quiet as the hat opened at the brim:

_Over one thousand years ago_

_The Hogwarts School was founded_

_and every year I sing a song_

_to Sort you into Houses._

_You may belong in Gryffindor_

_where dwell the brave at heart_

_or possibly in Ravenclaw_

_whose wits set it apart._

_Yet you may match with Slytherin_

_whose drive is legend writ._

_Still, you may find fair Hufflepuff_

_to be the better fit._

_But Houses mean not everything._

_Like traits you all do share._

_I fear if you do not unite_

_great doom you all shall bear._

_Yes, I may only be a hat_

_but I see what goes on._

_Because you still lack unity,_

_your strength is all but gone._

_Last year I gave the same advice._

_Alas, you did not heed it._

_I urge you all to listen now_

_if ever you should need it._

_Danger awaits you in the world,_

_its darkness ever grows._

_What you may find if you should look_

_one cannot ever know._

_So put me on and I will tell_

_you where you ought to be._

_But just remember where you go_

_by no means defines thee._

The song was followed by rather dubious applause, and some low mutterings. Even the hat was more morose than usual. "Giving advice again, I see," observed Harry.

"Yes, and reprimanding us as well," said Hermione matter-of-factly as Harry had to take a moment to reflect on how bizarre it was to be admonished by a hat. _I guess you just never get used to some things._

"It must be important, if it's stressing this point so much," she continued, "I don't think it usually gives advice, and now it's told us this twice."

Harry looked over at Malfoy. How could he cooperate with people who were likely Death Eaters?

After the sorting Dumbledore stood and the audience of students quieted down once more. "Welcome," announced Dumbledore holding his arms wide, "Welcome to our newest students, and to our old students, welcome back. Before we partake of the wonderful meal that has been prepared for us," Ron's stomach gave an audible growl in protest, "I have a few announcements to make. I am pleased to introduce a new member of our staff, Professor Slughorn," there was a light smattering of applause, "who has agreed," Dumbledore continued, "to magnanimously to postpone his retirement and assume his old post of Potions master," _Potions?_ Harry thought. Many of the other students were wondering aloud the very same thing, "and," Dumbledore called over the clamor to quiet the chattering noise, "to announce it has been decided that Defense Against the Dark Arts will be instructed by our very own Professor Snape." Harry looked up sharply at the high table ('What? NO!' he could hear Ron shouting). Snape, as ever, wore his mask of impassiveness. Now the students were gossiping in full force, only the Slytherins and a few other students remembering or bothering to applaud. "Now, we may dig in!" Food appeared on the long tables, and for the first time Harry could remember, the students were paying no attention to either Dumbledore, or the food.

"I thought you said Slughorn was taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts post!" exclaimed Hermione.

"I thought he was," he replied bemused, trying to think back on what Dumbledore had told him and realizing that Dumbledore had never actually said what subject he would be teaching. Harry had just assumed it would be Defense. Throughout all of this confusion, Harry still hadn't taken his eyes off their future Defense teacher. Suddenly, those inscrutable black eyes were boring into his, and Harry blinked in surprise, he hadn't realized he had been staring. But, no, Snape was talking to Flitwick who was sitting beside him; it had all happened so quickly, Harry almost thought he'd imagined it.

The food was sumptuous, as usual. There was a large assortment of food stuffs. Harry helped himself to some roast chicken, roast potatoes, carrots and peas, baked beans, and, of course, his favorite treacle tart [2]. By the time he was done, his belly was full to the point of slight discomfort. There was nothing like a Hogwarts' feast. It made him feel sleepy, and he thought longingly of the cozy warm beds that were sure to be waiting. The whole room grew quiet, for Dumbledore had stood up to make his parting statements. _And then bed_, thought Harry.

"Unfortunately, before we depart this evening for a much welcomed and well-deserved slumber, I have a few more announcements to make. First, let us set aside the rudimentary information, which the older students may momentarily turn off their ears for: The Forbidden Forest, as described by its namesake, is prohibited to all students from entering," Harry was beginning to feel his eyelids grow heavy. "For other activities that are unlawful, specific to this school, you may see the list of banned items and actions on the door to Caretaker Filch's office. And now, onto more serious matters," he stated gravely. "You all know of the rise of the dark wizard who calls himself Lord Voldemort." Some people gasped or squawked in alarm, but then the silence became stifling. Harry was no longer feeling drowsy and sat up in rapt attention. "He is currently doing his best to tear our world asunder and to suppress all that is good in this world. This will affect everyone, some, more than others," his eyes combed over each of the House tables and lingered a fraction of a second longer on the Gryffindor table, "but no one will be left untouched all the same. Alas, some have already been impacted in the worst way imaginable. I ask that we offer a moment of silence, for all of those who have fallen valiantly at the hand of the Dark Lord, and for those who have so cruelly suffered the agony of losing of their loved ones.

Everyone complied out of respect and made not a sound for a long while. Harry closed his eyes and thought of all of the names listed in the _Prophet_, Cedric and, of course, Sirius… Voldemort must be defeated. He remained deathly quiet even after Dumbledore resumed speaking. "The darkness which gathers all around us seeks unyieldingly to destroy our world. It is during these times, when fear and uncertainty are at their peak, that people will discover they are capable of a great many things — be they for good, or for ill. We must be stronger and even more relentless in forging nets of trust and camaraderie.

"I cannot emphasize enough the dangerous times we live in. And rest assured, we have taken as many precautions as possible to safeguard your well-being — remember, the purpose of these security measures and restrictions are not to inconvenience you, but to protect you. But as history will attest, the most insidious forces work from within. You must all be on your guard. In order to fight this evil, and to overcome it, we must ensure that in these dark times — even through the most trying of circumstances — the best in us is revealed, not the worst." He paused, peering imperially at the gathered assembly over his half-moon spectacles. "Now at long last, it is time for bed. May we all encounter the enchanting wonder of our imagination in dreams."

With that, the students began to bumble their way out of the Great Hall, eager to get back to their dormitories. It was oddly quiet. Hermione turned to him. "We have to lead the first years, Harry. We'll see you in the common room."

"Yeah, alright," Harry yawned, becoming tired once more.

"First years," Hermione spoke in an authoritative voice, "First years, this way please." She moved along the tables leading the newest Gryffindors, Ron following less enthusiastically in her wake.

Harry moved forward at a more leisurely pace and waited for most of the traffic to subside rather than attempt to navigate his way through the sea of students. He was bumped from behind and lost amid his thoughts of Dumbledore's speech and Snape's appointment as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, he wasn't able to stop himself from colliding softly into the person in front of him.

"Sorry," he mumbled and looked up to see a tall and very blond-haired someone, who elected to just stand there in response. "Do you mind?" Harry asked tiredly, he wasn't in the mood for this. "You're holding the line up."

"Give me a reason, Potter," the Malfoy hissed.

"Because I'm tired and this way you won't have to endure the torment of being disgraced by my presence," Harry said in hopes of getting Malfoy to leave [3].

"No, I don't think so, Potter," he said and folded his arms, as if to block Harry's way.

"What d'you want from me, Malfoy?" he demanded as he felt his patience ebbing away. "Are you just going to stand there and stare at me? Didn't you get your daily quota by the carriages already?" he couldn't resist.

"I wasn't staring at you!" Malfoy outraged. "Why would I want to look at your mutilated head? I was merely… plotting my revenge."

"Revenge?" Harry repeated languidly, thinking longingly of his warm bed waiting for him up in the common room.

"Yes, Potter! Didn't I just say that?" Malfoy replied scathingly.

Harry wasn't sure what Malfoy was referring to. "Revenge for my father," Malfoy said in response to Harry's puzzled look.

"Incar —"

But utilizing his seeker's reflexes, Harry had pulled out his wand before Malfoy could finish the spell.

"Expelliarmus!" he bellowed, sending Malfoy's wand flying.

Malfoy got up, his mouth fixed in a vicious snarl. He lurched violently towards Harry, an action which threw Harry off guard. What did Malfoy think he was going to do? Harry found out when he felt something hard connect with his jaw. Malfoy drew back again to hit his upper cheek this time. Now that Harry knew what was happening he stood back and cried, "Protego!" Malfoy was hurled backwards forcefully.

Malfoy gave a frustrated and almost feral growl, as he lunged again towards him, which by now Harry thought was a bit foolhardy. But he was a little taken aback by the ferocity of Malfoy's attack and the force of hatred with which he was acting, even though Harry was well accustomed to the amount of loathing they had for one another. This was different. This wasn't just Malfoy being a bully or an arse.

"Petrificus Totalus." Malfoy's arms snapped to his sides and he fell forward like a felled tree.

Harry heard cheering and realized that a group of students had gathered around him and Malfoy. _Terrific_, thought Harry sarcastically.

"Release him, Potter."

Harry would recognize that voice anywhere. He cringed internally. _Of course_, he thought. _Just my luck_. He stared down at Malfoy wondering what he had possibly hoped to accomplish. Even frozen, Harry knew he was glaring angrily up at him.

"Now, Potter."

"Finite incantantum," Harry muttered. "I was only defending myself professor," he explained.

"Yeah," some of the students offered, "He's telling the truth. Malfoy attacked him."

"Enough." He waited. "Well, what are all of you doing here? This does not involve you. Go to your dormitories… Now!" he demanded. The other students filed away, the prospect of facing Snape's wrath overcoming their desire to enjoy the spectacle.

"Really, Mister Malfoy, resorting to Muggle tactics," Snape derided once they were all gone. "Potter, I would expect that from, but certainly not from you."

Harry wasn't sure whether the barb was directed more to him or Malfoy. He decided it didn't matter.

"Twenty points from Slytherin and Gryffindor for the both of you."

Harry expected Snape to punish him undeservedly, and yes, at least he did penalize Malfoy as equally which was a miracle in and of itself. But that still didn't prevent his anger from bubbling to the surface at the injustice. If Snape had seen Malfoy hit him, then he knew exactly what happened. "What was I supposed to do? Let him use me as his personal punching bag? I didn't attack him, all of my spells were defensive," he protested truthfully.

"Would you like me to deduct even more points? I will gladly do so if that is your wish," Snape threatened.

It was only twenty points, and there was no way to get them back. Talking back now would just increase that or earn him a detention. This was as fair as Snape was going to get.

"No, sir," Harry answered resignedly but more calmly. Something flashed in Snape's eyes and he gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head [4]. _What was that all about?_ thought Harry.

"You, come with me," Snape said turning to Malfoy, who was visibly upset. Harry smirked. No, it wasn't nearly as bad as he thought it'd be.

Snape turned around. "And Potter?"

Harry swallowed; maybe he had entertained the thought too soon. "Yes, sir?"

"You might want to get that looked at." _What?_ Get what looked at? When all Harry did was give him a puzzled look, Snape smirked. Then he resumed walking in the other direction. Malfoy gave him one last scathing look, and Harry turned to finally make for the Gryffindor common room. He had no idea what Snape was talking about, but at least he wasn't in anymore trouble, it seemed.

Not long ago, Harry would have retaliated and been unable to restrain himself. Maybe he was clearing his mind better after all. He had made the logical choice instead of lashing out emotionally… Was that was this was all about? Had Snape been testing him, and he had passed? Reaching the portrait of the fat lady (looking at him rather expectantly), this encouraging thought dissipated upon realizing he had no idea what the password was, and everyone else was probably already inside.

"Uh."

"Harry!" The portrait had swung open revealing Hermione, as well as Ron.

"How did you —?"

"We were wondering where you were. You were taking forever, so I nicked the map out of your trunk to check and see. Sorry, about that," Ron added quickly.

"No, I'm glad you thought of that. I'd rather not be stuck outside all night long," he remarked as they sat in their usual spots in the common room, Ron kicking a first year out of his seat, and Hermione pulling him out and forcing him to sit on the hearth, beckoning the previously displaced first year to sit back down.

"Well, we would've checked eventually," reasoned Hermione. "We saw you were with Snape and Malfoy and — what happened to your face!" she cried once Harry was visible in the light of the fire. Ron gave a low whistle.

"My face?" he questioned and reached up to touch it. He immediately felt pain when his hands brushed against the bruises that were sure to be there. Oh… _that's_ what Snape was talking about. "Oh, yeah. That would be from Malfoy. Being the generous kind of guy he is, he wanted to make sure I received a grand welcome," he quirked flippantly. "But I kind of deserved it. I disarmed him and he came after me, but I didn't know what to expect so I just sat there like an idiot."

Ron laughed, "The best and brightest of our defense class, eh?"

Harry chuckled, too. "Definitely not my greatest moment. You should have seen me. Honestly, if I didn't think you would get angry because it's Malfoy, you probably would have laughed your arse off," he told Ron. That made Ron laugh even harder and when he sobered up enough he told him, "Sorry, Harry, but that's too good to pass up."

"Believe me, I think I'll survive the embarrassment," Harry smiled.

"But you're right, it is Malfoy. I swear to you if I was there I would have kicked his little arse," Ron promised ostentatiously.

"That's reassuring," Harry joked.

"Maybe you should have Madame Pomfrey —"

"No."

"But —"

"I'm not going to the hospital wing for a bruise, Hermione!" he cut across shortly, and thankfully, she relented. It was a hopeless cause.

"What happened, Harry? Why were you even fighting in the first place?" asked Hermione. "Did you provoke him? Or did you let him provoke you," she in a disapproving tone.

"No, I didn't provoke him. And he didn't really provoke me either. He said something about revenge for his dear old D-A-D."

Ron snorted.

"I was just trying to defend myself."

"That little ferret, I can't believe he did that!" Hermione exclaimed, standing up and unconsciously clenching her fists, causing the first year to look as though he truly regretted his decision to sit anywhere near them.

"Really, Hermione? Are you honestly that surprised?" asked Harry, a little startled by her fervor.

"Oh, when I get my hands on him —"

"You'll what?" asked Ron. "Deck him like you did in third year? Because if you are, tell me when. I wouldn't want to miss that."

Harry laughed, but Hermione didn't look too amused, in fact she was fuming. "No, I just — argh!" she gave a groan of frustration. "He's just so infuriating."

"Hermione, it's really not that bad. It's not like we haven't got in fights before," Harry reasoned.

"Yes, but, usually you weren't entirely blameless either. You'd both get into it. That was just a malicious attack."

Harry shrugged.

"So how much trouble did you get in? I mean, I assume Snape wasn't too happy," asked Ron.

"He took twenty points off for both of us."

"That's it?" Ron marveled. "He took points off for Malfoy, too?"

"Yup."

Ron raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Still, you didn't deserve any points off, mate. If you only defended yourself."

"I think that's too much to wish for," said Harry not explaining his theory that Snape was just testing him. He didn't know if even he quite believed it himself.

"Hold it," said Hermione in an authoritative tone, accosting a fourth year carrying a lime-green disk in his hand, "Fang Frisbees are banned, hand it here," she said holding her hand out. The scowling boy reluctantly handed her the snarling disk and left to rejoin his friends. Ron waited until the boy had climbed up the stairs with his friends to their dormitories before he tugged it from Hermione's grip. "Excellent! I've always wanted one of these." Hermione's rebuke was drowned by loud, and to Harry, grating laughter. Lavender Brown had apparently found this remark highly amusing. She continued to laugh as she passed the three of them, glancing back over her shoulder to look at Ron and proceed to flutter her eyelashes. Harry thought that sort of blatant flirting was somewhat cloying, but when he looked over at Ron, he seemed rather pleased with himself. Harry could see where this was going already. Again, he noticed the disgusted look on Hermione's face as she yanked the Frisbee back out of Ron's hands and chastised him, and Harry was sure this was headed for disaster. _Great, now they're going start fighting again and drag me into the middle of it._ He sincerely hoped that Ron would just get the courage to ask Hermione out. It was obvious he liked her; Harry didn't want to see Hermione get hurt like she did in their fourth year.

To distract himself from these negative thoughts, he looked out the window to see the familiar sight of Hogwarts grounds. His eyes traversed the dirt path that led to Hagrid's cabin which was presently lit.

"We'll have to go visit Hagrid soon," Harry commented.

"Won't you guys see him in class?" asked Hermione.

"No, Ron and I aren't taking Care of Magical Creatures this year. You are though, aren't you?" he said.

"No," she answered, distraught, "I decided to drop it." They stared at her. "You didn't really think I'd go on with that class, did you?" she said, starting to panic.

The three of them were silenced, wondering exactly how they were going to tell Hagrid that his three favorite students were no longer taking his class.

"We have to go see him," Harry said suddenly.

"We can't. We're not allowed!"

"Oh, come off it, how many times do you think we've sneaked out before?"

"Shh, Ron!" she whispered, looking around her to see if anyone overheard. "We're supposed to be prefects!"

"But this is more important!" he claimed incredulously.

Harry looked at her expectantly.

"It's — oh…" she hesitated.

"Come on, Hermione, we're just going to go see Hagrid," pressed Harry.

"Yeah," Ron agreed quietly, "We've done it loads of times."

"How upset do you think Hagrid'll be if he finds out when we don't show up to class?" Harry persisted.

"Oh, alright," she conceded. "But we have to wait until everyone else is in bed." He nodded his consent.

At around midnight, the three of them made their way excruciatingly slowly through the hallways; the cloak really wasn't big enough for all three of them anymore. "Do you think we should use a Disillusionment charm or something?" Harry asked, "In case one a foot or something pops out? And that way we could probably walk a little faster"

"Good idea, Harry," Hermione said. Suddenly he felt a cooling sensation travel down his body. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem."

Moving at a faster pace now, they reached the double-doors and tread the path to Hagrid's cabin. When they reached it and knocked, they waited for a response, but none came. They looked at each other, puzzled. Harry knocked again. Still no answer. They heard the crack of a branch behind them and all three turned around to see a large, dark shape headed towards the hut. "That must be him," said Harry. He threw off the cloak and Hermione lifted the Disillusionment spell before Hagrid could bump into their invisible bodies.

"Merlin's beard! Gave me a fright there, you three. What're yeh doing out here? Yeh know you're not 'sposed to be out after dark."

"Sorry, Hagrid," Harry apologized, "We didn't mean to scare you like that, we thought you were inside."

"But yeh coulda come later instead o' breakin' the rules," Hagrid lightly admonished.

"We just really wanted to see you, Hagrid," said Harry. Ron and Hermione both expressed their consent. Harry could feel Hagrid starting to soften up. And soon enough he was saying, "Oh, alright. Bu' not fer too long. And 's long as yeh don' do this all the time," he warned, opening the door and ushering them inside.

Fang bounded towards them and Harry found himself the recipient of a very sloppy, wet kiss. The three of them sat down on the sofa while Hagrid bustled about — Harry noticed that Hagrid had a large knapsack that he was stowing away — and put a kettle over the stove. "Tea?" he asked. They all nodded. It was late enough that, thankfully, they did not need to pretend to eat Hagrid's cooking.

"What were you doing out, Hagrid?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I was jus' out seein' Grawpy, los' track o' time. He's doin' real good now. He's got a new home up in the mountains now, Dumbledore fixed it — nice big cave. He's much happier than 'e was in the forest. Yeh should come visit him sometime with me, during the break."

"Yeah, we'll have to do that sometime," Harry said. Both Ron and Hermione sent him surreptitious looks of incredulity. Harry didn't especially want to see Hagrid's giant of a brother — giants were known to be brutal creatures; but it would make Hagrid happy and Harry supposed that he and Hermione owed Grawp their lives in a way. Hagrid beamed.

"But why did you three come out tonight? I'll see yeh tomorrow in class, won' I?" Hagrid asked to the dread of the trio of friends. Harry decided to bravely plunge right on in to the heart of the matter. "Uh, no Hagrid. We're not taking Care of Magical Creatures this year." This was met with an uneasy silence. "What? What — none of you?" he asked. All three of them shifted uncomfortably and looked at each other guiltily. Ron and Hermione shook their heads wretchedly. Harry felt terrible and his heart sank further as Hagrid's face fell. "So, is tha' why yeh came tonigh'? Le's lay it easy on poor ol' Hagrid, eh?" he spoke more loudly as Harry flinched. "I guess my classes were that pathetic, huh?"

"Please, Hagrid," cried Hermione. "It's not that we didn't like your class, it's just — it didn't fit into any of our career choices."

"Yeah, righ'," Hagrid muttered darkly.

"We would've done. Honestly, Hagrid. We decided to take only the classes we needed. You know I'm an underachiever; I wanted to take few classes as possible. I'll have enough trouble as it is with just those," Ron tried to explain.

Hagrid pretended not to hear any of this. "Well, it's getting late. You three had best be off now. Wouldn' wanna get inter trouble now, would you?" he said in a would-be casual voice. Hagrid was taking this worse than Harry expected. "Hagrid, we —"

"Nighty night," Hagrid boomed over Harry.

Clearly he would have none of their excuses tonight. So they decided to admit defeat for now and got up to leave. They opened the door and Harry turned around to look at Hagrid one last time. "We'll visit you tomorrow," he promised. Hagrid said nothing so the three of them threw on the cloak and Harry resumed the Disillusionment charm.

Shutting the door behind them, they could feel a healthy wind blowing even through the heavy cloak, mirroring the chilly reception they had just received and the misery they all now felt inside.

"Oh, that was awful! I feel so horrible," claimed Hermione.

"He'll get over it soon enough," Ron said unconvincingly. Harry wasn't so sure about that. Hagrid, for all how menacing he might look, Harry knew was actually a very sensitive man.

"We'll visit him tomorrow," Harry said decisively. "And we'll volunteer to go and see Grawp," he said looking at the other two with a gaze that booked no argument. They had to make this up to him. Fortunately, Harry didn't need to worry about that, as Ron and Hermione both nodded their heads in zealous agreement.

With heavy feet, they reached the castle and as quietly as possible padded to the Gryffindor common room. They stopped and stood stock still when one of the patrols wandered past them. Thankfully, they appeared not to notice anything out of the ordinary. But then Harry had to take a closer look. At first he had not recognized her, as her hair was not its usual vivid color. "Tonks?" he asked, throwing off the cloak and removing the concealing charm once he identified her face. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry? Blimey, you gave me a fright there. Using that cloak of yours, I see. So that's how you got past me. Dumbledore has one or two of us from the Order patrolling the halls as extra security for Hogwarts. What are you all doing out here? You know it's past hours." Tonks voice didn't carry the usual cheer it normally did. Harry thought back on what Hermione said and wondered whether or not he should say something to console her. This wasn't his best department.

"We just went to visit Hagrid really quick. We're sorry. But we wanted to explain… we're not taking his class anymore," Hermione supplied.

"I see," said Tonks. "Well, I won't get you guys in trouble this time, but you really shouldn't be wondering about after dark."

"We're sorry, we won't do it again," said Harry. Tonks looked skeptical. "Well, at least not too often," he conceded.

Tonks seemed to accept this. "I understand, I wasn't one to follow the rules all of the time either. But try not to go out too much. And when you do, make sure you stick together." They all quickly agreed to this. "Well, I'll be seeing you around," she said. They all said their good-byes, but something was bothering Harry. "Tonks?" he asked again. She turned around and looked at him expectantly. But he didn't quite know how to going about bringing up the fresh topic of Sirius so instead he said, "It's good to see you, again."

She smiled slightly and nodded her head. "It's good to see you too, Harry. And you Ron, Hermione." With that she left.

"Should I have said something about Sirius?" Harry asked. He didn't want her to feel guilty about Sirius' death anymore. If anyone should, it was him.

"No. Not right then," Hermione answered to Harry's relief. "You wouldn't want to spring that up on her so unexpectedly. And probably not with Ron and I present, either. When you both have time you should try talking to her." Harry nodded then realized Hermione wouldn't be able to see because they were charmed invisible again.

The common room was empty as they had left it and only a few glowing embers remained of the previously crackling fire. Harry and Ron departed ways with a yawning Hermione and bade her goodnight.

Harry lay awake; if Ron's snores were anything to go by, he was already fast asleep. This did not surprise Harry in the least. It was only his first day back, but a lot had happened already. It would be a while before he found sleep; thoughts of Hagrid, Snape, Tonks and other various topics revolved in his head and he contemplated what it all meant. Just as the drowsiness was beginning to set in, he wondered vaguely what tomorrow might have in store for him, and if it would bring any more surprises.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 9:

School is only just begun, yet plenty happens in Harry's first week back. Things get testy in Snape's class as tempers soar between old archrivals. Quidditch begins. As do extra lessons for Harry. All in all, things are quite busy for our protagonist.

"_ENOUGH!" Snape bellowed, finally grabbing the fighting duo's attention. "Detention, the both of you. I will discuss it with you after class. I don't want to hear another word out of either of you," he warned, taking turns to glower down at both of them. "And twenty points from each of you for your display of childish behavior." Harry felt that was rich coming from a guy who belittled his own students._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Yes, it has. Or at least, time has been _very_ kind to the actor who plays Neville. I'm sure you've all seen pictures of Matthew Lewis when he's not in makeup. All I have to say is wowsers. He certainly made it through puberty alright, didn't he? I'm not sure how many of us were expecting Neville to turn out to be the best-looking one. (Arguably, of course, I know Tom Felton has his fans — out of the kids, of course. That would be a bit of a slight to Mr. Jason Isaacs although I was speaking mostly about the kids).

[2] It's a wonder these kids aren't all fat, the way they eat. You never hear of them drinking milk or water, or eating vegetables. Same with fruit, it's hardly ever mentioned. And all of the candy… Plus, their exercise consists only of walking through a castle. How many of them go jogging through Hogwarts' grounds? And their 'sport' does not even classify as physical activity in my opinion… they're on brooms for Christ's sake! At this rate, Voldemort has only to wait twenty years for everyone at Hogwarts to die of coronary heart disease. I can't say that I really blame Fleur for complaining… Well, maybe I won't go _quite_ that far. It's great for a couple of days, but even I would get sick of it after a while, and I absolutely love food. I live in the Pacific Northwest, but my mom is from the south and I love her southern cooking, which most of you probably know is pretty heavy. But I can't imagine eating like that all of the time. It'd be like trying to eat at Claim Jumpers every day… Yikes. I imagine Rowling did this more to describe the warm and comforting atmosphere at Hogwarts. I also read something along the same lines of this idea in some blog or article or something or other. But just an interesting thing to note. Really, they should all look like Crabbe and Goyle! Honestly, how is Ron skinny? Oh God, please don't tell me he's bulimic! Lol. Not to make light of eating orders or anything… Wouldn't want to offend…

[3] My thinking was that Harry's vocabulary would have noticeably improved from spending all of that quality time with Snape, and Dumbledore, too. I think Rowling wanted to portray him as being naturally intelligent. He might as well sound that way, although not quite to the level as say, Hermione or Draco of course. (Unlike Harry, I believe it is commonly accepted that Draco was a very good student, near the top, and probably got better marks than Harry. I mean, he was able to transfigure a snake in his second year, picked up Occlumency quickly, could use nonverbal spells much earlier, etc. Harry got lazy. I imagine Draco was pressured by his family and held to high standards as well.)

[4] If you're wondering, it's mild approval. Not pride or anything so corny.

A/N:

I didn't have Slughorn on the train, as I would think he would leave for the protection of Hogwarts sooner rather than try and evade the Death Eaters on the run hiding in Muggle homes. And I didn't want to have to add that scene on the train; it would have been a bit much for one train ride.

I also hope you liked my song for the Sorting Hat. I didn't look at the words of Rowling's songs, only the rhyming and word scheme. But some of the lines I wrote sound awfully familiar. If they eerily similar to those in the book, I promise it was completely unintentional. But having read them more than a few times, I may have unconsciously written it verbatim (or very nearly). And there's only so many ways to describe all of the Houses in a certain number of words and make it sound good. Anyways, no, it's not Shakespeare, but if I may say so myself, I don't think it's too shabby either. Enough to be believable, yes?

Again, I would love to see some reviews!

Signing off,

fanster


	10. The Tempest

I'd personally like to thank the **Son of Whitebeard** for the review!

DISCLAIMER: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I still don't own anything.

P.S. Another long one. And sorry it's so late! Olympics has been keeping me glued to the television. Consequently, the chapter probably has a few typos. Kindly ignore those. I'll fix them eventually. (Actually, I don't mind if you point them out to me, but try not to be angry with me!)

* * *

Chapter 9

The Tempest

Like Harry's first night at Hogwarts, the first week of school had been busy.

On Tuesday, Harry did get another surprise [1]. Two, in fact. McGonagall had called him to his office before breakfast. "Come in," she said when he rapped his knuckles on the door. "Sit down." He was curious as to why he had been called in. Surely Tonks hadn't told McGonagall what they were up to last night. Not that he really minded, but that didn't make sense, or else Ron and Hermione would have been summoned as well.

"I presume you know why you are here?" she asked. Harry gave her a blank look. "Angelina has graduated, which means you are now Quidditch captain," she elaborated.

"Oh," said Harry, mildly surprised.

"Oh, indeed," replied Professor McGonagall with some amusement. "This means that you will need to pick your team soon," she continued. "I have scheduled the pitch for you this weekend at ten in the morning. Will that work?" she asked.

"Er, yes," replied Harry. "Yes, that'll work," he answered more definitively. McGonagall observed him for a moment then said, "Good."

"I also assume you will want to be taking Potions, Mr. Potter? I thought I might as well hand you your schedule while you're here."

"Potions? But —" he needed an Outstanding to take Potions at the N.E.W.T. level. Except Slughorn was teaching Potion's now. Did that mean — "I can take Potions now?" he asked.

"Yes, Potter. While Professor Snape only accepted 'Outstanding' O.W.L. students, Professor Slughorn is more than willing to accept students who received 'Exceeds Expectations'". Her lips quirked into what could almost be described as the beginnings of a smile. "I was quite pleased to see how well you did in your examinations, particularly your Transfiguration mark." That was a rather large compliment coming from her.

"Thank you, Professor."

"This means that you are well on your way to becoming an Auror. But I must warn you not to become lax just because this is a non-testing year. You will need to put forth your best effort if this is indeed the career path you wish to pursue."

"Yes, Professor." He thought of something. "Wait, I don't have any potions supplies."

"Professor Slughorn will be able to provide for you until you purchase the correct supplies. You may order it by owl," she said handing him a brochure.

"Thanks," he said again. So something good had come from Snape taking over Defense after all.

"That will be all, Mr. Potter."

He got up to leave, but when he reached for the door handle McGonagall said, "Oh, and Potter?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Do try and select a good team. Slytherin, I hear, will have a strong team this year. And if they win, Professor Snape will be most unbearable. I will never hear the end of it."

Harry smiled. Everyone knew how competitive the two Heads of House were with one another, especially when it came to Quidditch. "I'll make sure to find a team I think will win the Quidditch Cup," Harry replied.

"That is good," she said, now smiling a little as well. "Off you go now, you don't want to miss breakfast."

"See you, Professor."

_Quidditch captain_, he thought. He guessed he should have expected it, but hadn't given it any thought. He was after all, the only one left of the team that won the Cup in his third year aside from Katie Bell. He hoped she wouldn't be upset as she was a seventh year. But they had both been on the team for the same amount of time, as Harry knew he was the only one to make a team as a first year.

"Quidditch captain!" Ron at breakfast. "Well, you are the obvious choice, mate, but still. Now you can run things the way you want."

Harry was glad Ron was happy for him. Sometimes he wondered how much Ron hid his jealousy, but his friend seemed to be genuinely in high spirits. "I don't know about Potions though, mate."

"Come on, Ron. It'll be better if you're there with me. And it's not Snape anymore, how bad could it be? And you need it if you want to be an Auror." He was trying to convince Ron to take the class with him before McGonagall passed out the schedules to everyone else.

"I know," he growled. "Fine. You got me there, Harry. I'll take bloody Potions with you," he relented.

Harry smiled. "You're making the right choice, Ron."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Harry smiled even more. "So much for just Charms on Mondays," Ron grumbled unhappily.

The morning began, as it happened, with Transfiguration. McGonagall had started with a fairly difficult task for review — to turn a rabbit into an hourglass — and predictably, only Hermione had been able to complete it to perfection by class' end.

Interesting to note was that when Ron drew level with Parvarti and Lavender as he walked to his desk, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh; Hermione, however, looked like she did not find this to be a laughing matter at all. He noticed that Hermione was colder than usual towards Ron during class; apparently Ron did, too, for he gave Harry a questioning look, to which Harry merely shrugged.

After that, classes were done for the day (well, not for Hermione). Harry and Ron only had Transfiguration on Tuesdays, so they decided to relax by playing some wizard's chess. Harry was pleased to see that Ginny joined them for a while. Hermione also reunited with them when her classes were over. Ron wanted to get in some practice before the trials began, so to Hermione's distress ('You really shouldn't fall behind on schoolwork this early in the year!'), they decided to head out to the Quidditch pitch. Harry knew that as captain, he probably shouldn't be helping Ron prepare because this might be seen as favoritism, as no one else would receive the same advantage. But Harry was still Ron's friend and he didn't think throwing a few balls at him was going to make a whole lot of difference. It was more for his psyche than anything.

The three made good on their promise to visit Hagrid, who had thankfully resumed being his cheerful self. Despite this, they still felt terrible and told him repeatedly that they were sorry. "Oh, I didn' really 'spect you to go on taking me class. I know yeh're more interested in other things," he told them to douse their apologetic insistence. "An' I know yeh're rarin' teh be an Auror, Harry," he said with a beaming smile. "An' I think tha's a great idea. Yeh've got teh take a lot o' tough classes fer tha' one. Bes' teh focus yer studyin' there."

Also of great relief to the trio was Hagrid's claim that now was not a good time to visit Grawp.

Wednesday was much more eventful. In Herbology, they were in Greenhouse 3, and so were onto more interesting and dangerous plants. But today was the first day of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry was anxious to know how Defense class was going to be with Snape, so it was with mild curiosity this time that Harry trudged down to Snape's classroom, which was no longer held in the dungeons.

As Harry took his seat, Snape remarked, "Ah, so you decided to proudly wear your battle scars I see, Mr. Potter. The results of your courageous and heroic encounter, no doubt," he finished dryly, thereby deflating some of Harry's newfound enthusiasm.

. *** .

The Weasley boy sniggered. _Well, that was certainly unexpected_, thought Severus. Maybe the Weasley offspring was going through a jealous stage which Severus knew he was prone to having. "I still can't believe you just stood there," said the red-headed boy. To his surprise Potter just rolled his eyes in amusement. "You must have looked like a bloody fool," Weasley continued, forgetting, apparently, that he was currently in class with his hated professor.

"Yes, Ron, we've already been over this. And thanks, by the way, for the support," gibed Potter.

"Always here for you, mate," the other boy responded in kind.

"If you two are quite finished," Severus said warningly.

That got their attention. When he didn't budge, Potter seemed to get nervous and blurted, "You're not going to send me to the hospital wing, are you? It's just a couple of bruises," he protested, "She'll just make a fuss."

Yes, Severus knew whom Potter was referring to. He too detested being mollycoddled by the overbearing matron. Wait? Did he just agree with the Potter brat? "No," he said, "I'm not sending you to the hospital wing. I do believe you'll survive, Potter," he mocked.

The idiot boy softly snorted again. Curious. But he was silenced with a glare. Severus turned to walk back to the front of the classroom.

"Prat," he heard Potter quietly utter playfully to his red-headed friend. Severus chose to ignore this.

If truth be told, Severus was mildly surprised. He was sure Potter would regale his friends with an embellished version of the event. But he didn't have time to deal with the antics and strange dynamics between Potter and his trusty sidekick. It mattered not to him, and there were more important matters to deal with at the present moment.

. *** .

Things took an interesting turn when Malfoy opened his mouth and taunted, "Yes, well, we all know Potter loves having ugly marks on his head." His cohort of Slytherins guffawed sycophantically. This was obviously not exactly a rare occurrence, but what made it fascinating was Hermione's reaction. "Hilarious, Malfoy, how original and so very witty. Here's an idea: instead of worrying yourself over Harry's face, why don't you work on that attitude of yours; plenty enough to keep you busy there." The whole class seemed to freeze. Even Snape seemed stunned into silence. Malfoy, after the initial shock soon composed himself, angrily saying, "No one asked for your opinion, Mud —"

"Oi!" interceded Ron. Harry glared but didn't otherwise react, unlike Ron was probably about to do judging by the way he was reaching for his wand. Harry grabbed a hold of Ron's arm to make sure he didn't do anything rash. Malfoy was just being Malfoy; his opinions were meaningless and his words even more so. Hermione was too clever to get upset over something like that. And Harry couldn't care less how his face looked, he was not going to see Madame Pomfrey if he could help it.

"Don't worry about it, Ron. I'm far too used to it. Once again, Malfoy has demonstrated his unlimited resource of creativity," Hermione continued her rant sarcastically. The gang of Slytherins was beginning to look angry now that their astonishment had worn off.

"You —" Malfoy began, but Snape finally decided to step in. "That's enough."

"What would you know about creativity, Granger?" Malfoy continued anyway; both of them were now completely ignoring an increasingly irritated Snape. "You're about as plain and dry as all those books you read, except even they wouldn't be able to fit that bushy hair of yours in —"

"I said that's en —"

"No," Hermione spoke over Snape, "but they could probably do in your little ferret face." Ron's jaw dropped, Harry's eyebrows shot into his hairline, and the whole class was watching in amazement. Like watching a train wreck, Harry thought. Except even that wouldn't be nearly as exciting as this although, admittedly, much more tragic.

"Why you little — !"

"Just leave Harry alone! Or is that so hard for you? You know, people will start to wonder…"

Many of the girls gasped, while Seamus and a few others didn't even bother trying to stifle their laughter.

"Silence, now!"

"Shut your trap, Granger," raged Malfoy. "Everyone knows it's you who's into wonder-boy over there. Tell, me which loser did you pick? Or did you even have to? I bet Weasel-head here would totally be into a threesome with Potter. Wouldn't you, Weas —?"

"ENOUGH!" Snape bellowed, finally grabbing the fighting duo's attention. "Detention, the both of you. I will discuss it with you after class. I don't want to hear another word from either of you," he warned, taking turns to glower down at both of them. "And twenty points from each of you for your display of childish behavior." Harry felt that was rich coming from a guy who belittled his own students.

Hermione at least had the decency to look abashed. Malfoy, however, did not look repentant in the slightest.

Harry stared at Hermione, and then shared a flummoxed glance with Ron. The class was starting to murmur. "Quiet!" Snape yelled before it got any worse. Harry could tell Ron was burning to say something to Hermione, but was too afraid of losing points or earning a detention alongside Malfoy and Hermione.

Eventually the class settled down, but he doubted anyone was paying close attention. He would bet his sneakers that all sorts of deviations would be made in the retelling. Even Trelawney ought to be able to predict that.

Harry and Ron waited outside for Hermione after class. The door opened, but it was Malfoy who stormed out without even looking at them. The door opened again; this time, it was Hermione. "Bloody hell, Hermione!" exploded Ron who was no longer able to contain himself.

"Ron, be quiet," she said looking worriedly back at the door as if Snape would burst out of it and give her more detention.

"Jesus, Hermione, what was that all about?"

"Harry!" Hermione said, appalled, her eyes widening.

"Sorry," replied Harry. It was an expression he had picked up from Dudley. He didn't know Hermione would be offended by it. She seemed too much the intellectual type who put their stock in logic to believe in God or be religious. Was she Christian, he wondered curiously? Before Harry had an opportunity to ask her, Ron was already interrogating her [2].

"Never mind that," he said, clearly unconcerned with whatever it was Harry said. "Answer the question. What was that all about?" he asked incredulously.

Hermione tightened her lips and starting walking at a brisker pace.

"Oh, come off it. You really think we're going to give this one a rest?" said Ron.

"I just — I was so angry with what he did to you, Harry."

"You've got to be kidding me," said Harry. "_That's_ what this is about?"

"Yes, Harry. And no, I'm not 'kidding you'," she said somewhat irritably. With everything Harry had gone through, she had become extraordinarily protective of her friend. Being punched by Malfoy was hardly a traumatizing experience, she knew, but she felt an inexplicable need to look after her friend. She was stressed to the max wondering what would become of Harry in his struggle with Voldemort and for everyone else with the war going on. With all of the worry she was trying to hold inside so as not to show her give her friends any cause for concern, she just snapped. Malfoy was only serving to present Harry with another problem that he didn't need any more of. "I rather think you would be pleased with my actions. He more than deserved it," she added, her voice quivering, whether from anger or from her movements as a result of walking so quickly, Harry didn't know. It would almost be more comfortable to jog than to walk this fast, he thought, as he strode to keep up with her. Harry and Ron did the best they could to keep up while again giving each other dumbfounded looks. It seemed like they made it back the common room in record time.

By dinnertime, Harry's earlier prognostication proved true.

The rumor-mill included everything from Hermione clobbering Malfoy's face with a book, to Hermione actually killing Malfoy (maybe an overzealous first year, Harry thought), that Malfoy punched Snape in the face to get at Hermione and that they were actually fighting over Harry (this seemed to be the consensus favorite among Gryffindors), rumors that Harry and Ron were an item (Ron was not at all pleased with this particular piece of gossip and glared at anybody who mentioned it; Harry was comforted by the fact that almost no one seemed to believe this was true), and an incredibly random rumor that Hermione and Malfoy got in trouble for making out in class.

"So I hear you punched Malfoy again," said Ginny as she slid into the seat next to Harry, across from Hermione. Harry felt a pleasant chill go up his spine. She smelled wonderful, he realized.

"I did not punch him!" said Hermione.

"Oh, so you did snog him!" exclaimed Ginny mock excitedly, bouncing up and down and clapping as if delighted.

This got a laugh out of a lot of the table, particularly those who witnessed the event. Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, I just —"

"— completely demolished him!" Ron finished. "You should have seen her. She was brilliant! That little prick had it coming to him," he added. "Who would've thought that Hermione would be the first one given detention? I still can't believe Snape gave you detention every Tuesday for a whole month."

Hermione sighed. "Yes, starting tonight," she said sullenly, looking up at the clock and dreading when the hands would indicate the seventh hour.

It was one of those inexplicable inevitabilities; when you wanted time to go faster, it would move mutinously slower. When you wanted time to pass by more slowly, it would infuriatingly speed up. In what seemed like no time, it was ten 'til seven.

"Where should I put it?" she heard Harry asking back in the common room; he was posting a bulletin regarding Quidditch tryouts. Sitting by the fire, she felt none of the warmth it was exuding inside her. "Right there is fine, Harry," she said getting up. Her gloomy tone of voice made Harry turn around.

"Time already?" he asked, glancing down at his watch.

"Unfortunately," she replied.

"It'll be alright, Hermione. Snape'll probably keep you so busy you won't even notice Malfoy," Harry tried to reassure her. Hermione wasn't sure whether or not this was a good thing. "Whenever I've had detention with him he's just made me do a lot of tedious, clerical-type work. And he doesn't hate you like he hates me." Well, that didn't sound so bad. Maybe Harry was right.

"Good luck, Hermione. I don't reckon anyone fancies detention with Snape _and _Malfoy."

_Thanks a lot__, Ron_, she thought. _That makes me feel _so_ much bette_r. He really needed to work on his consoling skills.

"You just let us know if Malfoy gives you any trouble," said Ron.

"Ha ha, I don't think she'll need us, Ron," laughed Harry.

This made Hermione smile.

"Well, I'll see you guys later," she said, feeling a little bit better.

That feeling would completely vanish when she reached the dungeons.

Hermione descended down the steps to the dungeons, dreading spending unnecessary time with Professor Snape, but more importantly with Malfoy. He was last person in all of Hogwarts she wanted to spend detention with. Him, and all of his self-superiority and pompousness, his condescending smirk and disdainful taunts directed for her expense. Before she knew it she had arrived at Professor Snape's office looking at the very smirk that infuriated her so. She gritted her teeth and entered the room without a word.

"Granger," he acknowledged with contempt.

She sat at a desk as far away from him as possible. She could practically feel him sneering her way, so she turned around.

"Look, I don't want to be here anymore than you do. So let's just make this as easy as possible, okay?" she hissed angrily through her teeth.

"No, thank you. I think I'd rather not," he said feigning sincerity. He was unbelievable, really. How old were they now? And all of this just to get under her skin. No instead of being sensible about the situation, he still had to find a way to cause her as much grief as he possibly could. Despite this knowledge, she was losing her patience.

"Listen, you —"

"That is enough. "Snape had arrived. "Need I remind you why you are both here in the first place?"

Hermione silently berated herself. Really, she had to do a better job of keeping her composure. She was normally quite adept at ignoring the Slytherin crew and their taunts, while Harry and Ron got worked up. But something about Malfoy just set her off. Something that was exceedingly maddening.

"You didn't have to give us detention," Malfoy muttered bitterly.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Believe me, the prospect of looking after a couple of mindless adolescents such as yourselves is not how I prefer to spend my time." He paused. "However, I can't very well have the two of you incessantly bickering back and forth in my classroom. I trust that these detentions over the next month will put an end to that?" It was more of a warning or a threat than an inquiry.

Of course, Professor Snape assigned them to do the most mundane tasks during their detentions. Both were silently reading through first through third year papers and making note of simple grammatical mistakes and spelling errors. Professor Snape made it clear that lack of productivity would result in his extending of the allotted time until he was satisfied. So Hermione worked quickly, not having anything better to do and in the hopes of shortening this session of detention. Malfoy seemed to be annoyed with this, sending exasperated looks her way. At first she thought it was because he had never had to do any grunt work in his life and he was in haughty disapproval with having to do 'house-elves' work' as he would probably call it — his parents probably didn't want to put him at risk of acquiring a paper cut on his precious hands; but she soon realized his huffy indignation was being directed towards her. Was he really so petty that he was upset she was doing better than him in detention? This was probably for the best, conjectured Hermione. This way, Snape would have no reason to criticize her, and if he did, he would have to criticize Malfoy as well. That would at least make it more bearable. Although she was also still slightly perturbed that Professor Snape was the only teacher who didn't acknowledge her dedication to her studies. Not that she particularly needed his praise, but she was the top student in his class, yet he still treated her as a troublesome miscreant. If nothing else, she would at least like to be considered as the serious student she was.

Normally, she would have gone above and beyond and added other constructive advice (she sorely wanted to, some of the writing was plain terrible), but refrained from doing so as Snape would probably just find a way to criticize her for it. So she just decided to stick with the task at hand.

All in all, detention wasn't nearly as bad as Hermione expected it to be. Malfoy was probably bursting with any number of insults, but he seemed to hold himself in check with Professor Snape present. He did shoot quite a few dirty looks over at Hermione, but she chose to ignore this and continue to work on her task dutifully. After a little over an hour, Professor Snape seemed to come to the decision that they had done enough. "Next week. Same day, same time," was all he said by way of dismissal. Well, Hermione didn't need any more encouragement. She left quickly without so much as a backward glance.

"How was it?" asked Ron when she returned.

"It wasn't too horrible," she said truthfully. "I think Malfoy was too afraid to say anything with Professor Snape there. He hasn't exactly been lenient with him lately, has he?"

"No," agreed Harry, "and it's fantastic," he concluded intentionally overzealously causing Ron and Hermione to laugh.

In the following session of Snape's class, it was apparent that Malfoy did not take kindly to being so openly humiliated by Hermione, purposely bumping into her quite forcefully, causing her to fall over and knock over some papers on an empty desk. "Out of my way, Mudblood," he muttered quietly.

Everyone looked back to stare. "Hey!" shouted Ron with a start, "What was that for?" he asked angrily.

Harry caught the back of Ron's robes to hold him back. Seamus and Dean got up too in case Harry would need reinforcement.

"Do you always have to be such a prat, Malfoy?" asked Harry. "Really, practically tackling a girl? Very brave of you," he said scathingly as he glared daggers at Malfoy, who was sneering back at him scornfully. "That's enough, Potter," Snape intervened.

Ron growled and grit his teeth, trying to fight against Harry. But Harry didn't want Ron to get in trouble and by then Hermione had recovered, standing up and taking the entire class by surprise once again, slapping Malfoy soundly across the cheek — her face scrunched up in anger. Lavender and Pavarti gasped audibly. The Slytherins sneered at her.

"You bit —"

"Silence, Mister Malfoy," interjected Snape, cutting him off. "You two seem determined to earn extra detention time. I do not have the words to describe your abysmal conduct in this class as of late, but I'm sure that with enough time in detention you will be able to come up with some suitable choices. An additional month, I believe, will do the trick."

The Gryffindors jeered at Malfoy in outrage, they all know what he was about to say about Hermione.

"Silence!"

Everyone shut up.

"Fifty points. Each."

Both Houses erupted at this. "I will take more if I have to!" Snape shouted above the chatter. "At this rate, you will be ensuring that the House Cup will be a two-sided race between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. I will not accept such behavior in my classroom."

"What was that, Mister Malfoy?" Snape said dangerously, for Malfoy had muttered something under his breath, but Snape with his uncanny ability to catch those in wrongdoing had apparently heard him. Obviously it wasn't anything polite, for all Malfoy did in answer was glower at Snape. This was also an interesting development, thought Harry. Usually, the two of them got on well enough.

"You don't want to test me," he said, his voice dangerously low so that Harry hardly caught what he said. "I daresay you don't want a third month?"

Malfoy scoffed. "This is all your fault, Granger."

"Shut up! Do you want even more detention?" hissed Hermione, clearly more worried about further punishment than Malfoy's faulty argument.

"Three months. Anymore and it seems I will be keeping you both here over Christmas."

"But —"

"Did you wish to make it four, Miss Granger?"

She promptly shut her mouth, killing the protest on her tongue and looking over at Malfoy fearfully should he rashly speak out again. Thankfully, this time he didn't. It seemed Malfoy had wasted all of his good grace with Snape. _About time_, thought Harry. Malfoy took it for granted that Snape would never punish him and paid the price. Unfortunately, so too did Hermione.

"Disgusting. All of you," Snape spat. "This would put the misdemeanor of my first years to shame. I would have thought that by now you would have at least retained the capacity not to resemble an assembly of mindless, infantile barbarians; apparently that was far too much to hope for," he spoke blisteringly with his eyes ablaze. He had probably never witnessed this sort of blatant insubordination in his class before. His nostrils were flaring, and Harry knew all too well that meant they were on the brink of breaching Snape's danger zone. Much like the color of Uncle Vernon's face, the dilation of Snape's nostrils served as his indicator; McGonagall's, how thin her lips got. But at least Snape had not yet reached the 'clenched jaw,' or worse, the 'twitching temple' stage yet. Of course, Harry had only once transcended to the 'impossibly pale' level last year when he wrongfully snooped a peak at Snape's worst memory in the Pensieve. Now that was scary. It'd probably give Neville nightmares. Or cause him to pee his pants, one of the two. Hopefully not both.

The rest of class passed without incident. Harry thought that no other teacher besides McGonagall would have been able to get control of the class as Snape had. The only thing to note was that there was a thick tension mounting in the air between the two Houses. Both were giving each other withering looks and sending their promises of nasty, albeit silent threats across the room. Ron kept looking askance at Hermione, but she just sat in silence giving no indication of how she was feeling.

When the bell rang, she strode off quickly leaving Ron and Harry behind still packing their bags. They looked at each other with puzzled expressions; it seemed they were doing a lot of that lately where Hermione was concerned. Once back in the common room, they discovered Hermione was there, sitting in their usual spot.

She didn't seem to notice them — she was resting her chin in her hand and staring straight ahead — until they were almost right next to her and Harry slung his schoolbag off and set it down with a soft 'thump'.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" asked Harry.

"Hmm?" she said snapping out of her daze. "Yeah, why?"

Harry and Ron looked at each other in disbelief.

"Er, well, you hit Malfoy," Ron supplied unhelpfully.

"I am well aware of that."

They were obviously not going to get a clear answer from her without some prying.

"It's just… very uncharacteristic of you," Harry tried.

Hermione didn't seem to know what to say or know how to say what she wanted to tell them, which didn't happen very often.

"Is there something else going on?" he asked gently, concerned.

"No," she replied in distress, "I-I don't know what came over me. I know I'm better than this. I shouldn't let him infuriate me so," she shook her head. "I guess I just wasn't expecting it and my fury came out in full force."

"I'll say," agreed Ron. "What's gotten into you?"

"I don't know!" Hermione cried, burying her face in her hands. She was on the brink of tears and this worried her two friends very much.

"What's changed? He's always been like this. Usually, it's you reminding me and Ron to calm down."

"I don't know. He's just so confusing."

"Confusing?" asked Ron.

"What's confusing about Malfoy?" Harry asked skeptically.

"I don't know," Hermione repeated miserably. For some reason, she didn't feel like telling her friends what transpired at Knockturn Alley. Maybe she just didn't want to admit that she had needed help. That was probably what sparked off this whole episode, she was too proud sometimes, and she knew it. But she couldn't do anything about it. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Harry sat on the arm of her chair and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "It'll be alright, Hermione. There's nothing wrong with you. You'll just have to remind yourself not to be goaded into fighting with Malfoy." He never thought he and Hermione would ever switch roles like this; it was all very surreal. "Maybe you should take Occlumency with me," he suggested trying to lighten the mood. "You can learn it for the both of us."

She heard give a watery snort through her hands that were still covering her face. She lowered her hands and said, "Yes, just the prescription for me: more quality time with Snape. I swear if I asked him, Harry, he'd think I'm stalking him or something."

"Not likely!" said Ron. "Imagine that, girls squealing after Snape."

"It's been known to happen," Harry said slyly, giving Hermione a subtle glance.

"What?" asked Ron, confused.

"Harry James Potter! You swore you would never tell anyone!"

"I didn't! You just did! I didn't force you to saying anything," he pointed out. As she continued to glare at him half-heartedly he protested, "Oh, come on. That was _not_ a big enough of a clue."

That bit of impudence cost him a swat on the arm.

"Feeling violent today, are we?" he chided playfully.

She didn't move to strike him this time to avoid solidifying his point but instead resigned to shaking her head and giving him a look somewhere between exasperation and amusement. He laughed.

"Wait a minute, _you_ had a crush on _Snape_?" Ron asked in disbelief finally putting two and two together, his face contorted with apparent oncoming nausea.

"It was just my first year!" Hermione defended furiously and looked around frantically making sure no one overheard as Harry, who had slipped off the arm of the chair and onto the floor, continued to laugh heartily. "You arse," she accused lightly.

"But still," said Ron, not quite seeing the amusement and still looking a bit queasy. "It's bloody Snape. The bat of the dungeons. The greasy gi —"

"Yes, I _know_, Ron."

"Then why —"

"I don't know, I just did. I think it was because he was intelligent and he has this… very commanding presence. But obviously, it stopped after a while once I realized how horrible his temper was and so on. And of course, how awful he was to Harry," she explained rapidly as she started to blush.

"You mean once you moved on to Lockheart," Harry joked.

"Oh, hush up, Harry. That's quite enough out of you." But her rebuke didn't carry any bite, so Harry smiled back at Hermione jestingly.

"You don't still —?"

"Of course not, Ronald, don't be ridiculous."

"'K, just making sure," he said defensively.

"You forgot his sultry voice and otherworldly gracefulness," Harry added cheekily.

"Oh, please, Harry. That is _not_ the way I put it."

"But he's… greasy. And he's got a huge nose. And he's _Snape_. I thought Lockhart was bad. But Sn — ?"

"_Yes_, Ron. We've established this already," Hermione said impatiently. "_You _aren't able to see past people's looks."

"Hey, that's not —"

"Besides, he's not _that_ bad looking. And I know I wasn't the only one."

Now Ron was starting to look sick again. "Who else —?" But people were starting to arrive in the common room.

"Can we talk about something else now?" Hermione pleaded.

"Fine by me," grunted Ron a touch disgruntled.

"Sure, why not?" chuckled Harry.

"What are you guys laughing about," asked Ginny, coming up to them.

"Nothing," Ron said a little too quickly. Harry suspected that Ginny knew this bit of information already, but instead said, "Malfoy's face after Hermione smacked it." And if truth be told, he'd rather not know if Ginny was included in the other girls that Hermione had just described.

"Oh, yes. I heard about that. Everyone has, it seems. Way to go, Hermione," smiled Ginny.

"Uh, thanks?" Hermione answered uncertainly. _Had the news spread that quickly?_

"Ginny, come here!" a girl exclaimed excitedly. "You won't believe this!"

"Sorry," Ginny said apologetically, disappointing Harry. "See you guys at dinner."

"So," he picked up as if resuming a polite and casual conversation, "where were we?"

. *** .

The rest of the week passed by relatively quietly, although, in Charms Harry was pleased to discover that Professor Flitwick assigned the Disillusionment charm. He had already had plenty of practice when Moody taught them the spell this summer and he had used it a number of times as well. This thrilled Flitwick who then rewarded each of them ten points, making Harry feel less guilty about losing points so quickly on his first night back.

Occlumency lessons went as per usual, and left Harry feeling like he was getting nowhere. The only good thing about his Occlumency lesson was that it provided him with a valid excuse not to attend Slughorn's party. Apparently, Slughorn was holding a get-together for some students, as Harry was informed via a violet ribbon-adorned scroll of parchment. Of course, no one was supposed to know about these private sessions, and as Snape was no longer the Potions Master, Remedial Potions was not an available ruse. So they ended up telling him that Harry had detention with Snape — an explanation that no one would have any trouble believing. Otherwise, Harry would use his invisibility cloak and knock on the door to ensure that no one knew about his lessons with Snape.

Soon it was the weekend, which Harry was curiously anxious for. It would be his first Quidditch as captain. On Saturday morning, after a quick breakfast, Harry and Ron left for the pitch early. Ron wanted to get some last minute practice in, and Harry wanted to make sure everything was set up properly. He didn't want to be unprepared on his first day as captain.

By the time tryouts were to begin, Harry was shocked to see the number of people flooding in. There must be forty or fifty of them! How was he possibly going to be able pick a team?

Luckily and unfortunately for Harry — he wasn't sure which one at the moment — to his discovery, many of the students in attendance did not play Quidditch, indeed, many of them did not even have brooms. Still more frustrating to learn was that some of them were not even from Gryffindor. He supposed they came to see the 'Chosen One'. What? Did they think he was going to make some public announcement that, in fact, he _was_ the Chosen One and he would be running for the Minister of Magic?

Once he believed he had only the people who legitimately wished to try out for the team, he still wasn't sure quite how to begin. "Er, let's just have you do a couple of laps around the pitch to warm up, shall we?" he requested.

As it turned out, this was a very good idea after it became clear that many of them had never ridden a broom before. He began to get annoyed when he ordered a group of third year girls to leave the pitch because they clearly only came to see him. They didn't even have the common decency to look the slightest bit abashed, giggling as they departed. That reduced the number to just fewer than twenty which made things much more manageable. Some of those sent off were trying to straggle but Harry saw that Hermione was ordering them off the field from the stands for which he was very grateful.

When time was up, he had slimmed down the count to a dozen which he thought made the day a success. Some of the rejected players pitched a fuss, but nothing significant occurred. The pool wasn't as talented as the team he had been on in past years. He was fairly sure who he wanted as Beaters. That group had been narrowed down to three. He decided he would keep Jimmy Peakes, a short, but burly, broad-chested third year who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger. He was having trouble picking between Jack Sloper and Ritchie Coote. None of them had the brilliance of Fred and George, but he was pleased with his finds. He was deliberately leaving the Keeper position for last. There would be less people watching from the stands, meaning less pressure. There were three who vied for that position. Ron, of course, and two others: A sixth year, Cormac McLaggen and Ryan Coulter, a third year who showed tremendous potential. That left five others for the three Chaser positions. He knew he would keep Katie Bell, who insisted on trying out even though Harry was well familiar with her skill. And Ginny was the clear second best out of the group. He considered keeping Demelza Robbins, a fourth-year girl who was quite adept at dodging Bludgers, but she was rather unrehearsed with the strategy of Quidditch and not quite up to par with the other three selections. He would have to choose between the other three for the last spot. Two of them were Seamus and Dean, and he didn't fancy having to choose one of them only to reject the other. Harry himself, of course, would be the Seeker. They would resume tryouts tomorrow and Harry would make the second, and hopefully final, cut.

Exhausted, Harry made his way back to the castle with Ron and Ginny.

Slumping into his favorite armchair, it was not a moment after that Dennis Creevy was running up to him. Not another request for an autograph, I hope, he thought. "Harry, Harry! There you are!" the young boy panted, bending over to ease the stitch in his side. Harry waited patiently for the younger Creevy to collect himself. "Yes?" asked Harry.

"Dumbledore," Dennis gasped between breaths, "asked me to… to give this to you," he said handing Harry a slip of paper.

"Oh, thank you, Dennis," said Harry, more animated than before.

Dennis smiled. "It's no problem, Harry," he asserted enthusiastically.

Once Dennis left, Harry scrambled to unfold the piece of paper.

"Is it your lesson?" asked Hermione eagerly.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, reading the note. "At eight o'clock tonight."

"Ooh, I bet he's going to teach you all types of advanced magic! I'm so jealous of you, Harry," Hermione rambled excitedly. "Do you have any idea what he'll be teaching you today?"

"Let the man breathe, Hermione," joked Ron.

"Sorry, but, lessons with Dumbledore! What an exhilarating prospect!"

Later that evening, Harry departed for Dumbledore's office, pronouncing "Peppermint toad", the password Dumbledore had given him to gain passage beyond the gargoyle.

"Come in," the Headmaster invited when Harry knocked on the door. "Ah, Harry," he said upon seeing his student enter, "Good, you are here. And I gather you are anxious to begin?" Harry saw that the Pensieve was out once again. "Yes, sir."

"Then we might as well dive in, quite literally," the elder man stated."You will remember, I am sure, where we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings."

"Yes, sir," answered Harry. "Voldemort's mother was alone and pregnant. Riddle left them."

"Precisely Harry. Tom Riddle, the handsome Muggle, abandoned his wife and he returned to his family in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

"How do you know she was in London, sir?"

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke," said Dumbledore, "You'll know the shop I presume?"

Harry nodded, thinking of his first disastrous escapade with Floo powder.

Dumbledore swilled the contents of the Pensieve much as a prospector sifts for gold. Out of the swirling mass rose a small old man, made of the same silvery substance.

"We acquired it under curious circumstances," it said. "It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly and that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along… Going to have a baby, see. She told us the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time as you can imagine, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was, his favorite teapot,' or 'This was Paracelsus' most trusted cauldron' and the like. But upon closer inspection I could see it had his mark all right. A few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near priceless, but she didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"

Dumbledore gave the Pensieve a vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.

"He only gave her ten Galleons?" Harry exclaimed indignantly.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity," explained Dumbledore. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of money, and so sold one of Marvolo's most treasured family heirlooms."

"But couldn't she have gotten everything she needed by magic?" Harry pointed out.

"Perhaps so," said Dumbledore. "But my guess is that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not believe she wished to be a witch any longer. It is also possible that in her despair of an unrequited love, she was sapped of her magical powers; that can sometimes happen." Harry thought uncomfortably of Tonks. "In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand, even to save her own life."

"She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?" said Harry, aghast.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Could you possibly be feeling pity for Lord Voldemort?"

Harry raised his own eyebrows in turn. He thought about it. "No. Not for who he became," he explained. "Everything he's done has been his choice." He hesitated. "But as a child, he was defenseless, he was innocent. She had a choice, just like my mother did."

"Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but try not to judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering having never truly known love herself, and she never had your mother's courage," Dumbledore said gently."And now, if you will stand…"

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, as he was joined by Dumbledore at the front of the desk.

"This time," said Dumbledore, "we will be entering my own memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry…"

Harry bent over the Pensieve; his face broke the cool surface and he was falling through darkness again… Seconds later and his feet hit firm ground. He opened his eyes and found that he and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.

"There I am," said Dumbledore brightly, pointing to a tall figure crossing the road just ahead of them.

That statement was hardly necessary, as the younger version of his self stuck out like a sore thumb. It would have been the first thing your eye was drawn to. This younger Albus Dumbledore had a long auburn hair and beard, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing. This one made the outfit he was sporting the day Harry visited his relatives at the hospital for the first time since the attack seem conservative in comparison.

"Nice suit, sir," said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled as they followed his younger self, passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that contained a rather drab square building. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a young woman wearing an apron.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with one Mrs. Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

"Oh," said the bewildered-looking girl, taking in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. "Um… hold on… Mrs. Cole?" she shouted over her shoulder.

Harry heard a distant voice shout something in response. The girl turned back to Dumbledore and opened the door a bit wider. "Come on in, she'll be right with you."

Dumbledore stepped into the tiled hallway; the whole place was shabby but spotlessly clean. Harry and the older Dumbledore followed. Before the front door had closed behind them a hassled-looking woman, in her thirties was Harry's guess, came scurrying toward them. When her eyes fell upon Dumbledore and she came to a stop and stared blankly at him, at a loss for words. Harry couldn't say that he really blamed her.

"Good afternoon," said Dumbledore, holding out his hand. "My name is Albus Dumbledore. I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

Mrs. Cole blinked and shook her head, quickly trying to get over her momentary shock. "Oh yes. Well — then why don't you come upstairs and we can talk?"

She led Dumbledore into a small room that seemed part sitting room, part office. She invited Dumbledore to sit on a rickety chair and seated herself behind a cluttered desk."I'm sorry, I had forgotten. Things have been very busy around here. One of the children has come down with the chickenpox and things have been rather hectic."

"That is quite alright. Is now not a good time?" he inquired politely.

"No, no!" she said hurriedly. "You set up an appointment for now, so now is when we'll have it."

Dumbledore nodded his head in grateful acknowledgement. "I am here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle and arrangements for his future," said Dumbledore.

"Are you his family?" asked Mrs. Cole.

"No, I am a teacher," said Dumbledore. "I have come to offer Tom a place at my school."

"A school? What school?"

"It is called Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "It is a sort of boarding school."

"That's a rather odd name for a school," she smiled. "I've never heard of it, but then again, I'm sure I haven't heard of a lot of things. Being a matron is not exactly in the thick of the social world. What is it that you want with Tom?"

"We believe he possess the qualities we are looking for."

Mrs. Cole furrowed her brow, "He hasn't been entered for any scholarships."

"His name has been down for our school since birth."

"Oh. Then who registered him? Was it his parents?"

There was no doubt that Mrs. Cole was an inconveniently sharp woman. Apparently Dumbledore thought so too, for Harry now saw him slip his wand out of the pocket of his velvet suit, at the same time picking up a piece of perfectly blank paper from Mrs. Cole's desktop.

"Here," said Dumbledore, waving his wand once as he passed her the piece of paper, "I think this will make everything clear."

"I see. That seems fine."

Seeing that she still seemed skeptical, Dumbledore, detecting her to be an honest woman took a more honest tactic.

"Tom, he's not a normal boy, is he?"

Mrs. Cole's eyes widened and seemed to say, 'How could you possibly know that?'

"It is alright. I understand."

She also seemed to decide that he was trustworthy for she said, "No. He never plays with the other children. He's very sharp for a boy his age and he seems to frighten the other children. At first, I just thought it was because he's rather distant, but I think it's more than that."

"Do you mean you think he bullies the other children?" probed Dumbledore.

"I don't know. But strange incidents seem to occur around him."

Dumbledore didn't press her, but Harry could tell that he was interested. He waited patiently for her to elaborate. She didn't disappoint.

"One day, we found another child's rabbit… hanging from the rafters. I don't know how Tom could have possibly accomplished that, but the day before, there had been an argument between the two of them. I don't know who else would have done something like that. Tom, he's always so mysterious. I just don't know. But it's happened more than once, and that's why I think it's him. We take the children out for a summer outing each year, and two of the children… when we found them they seemed shaken. All we could get out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom. He swore it was just to go exploring, but… there have been other things, too. But I haven't actually caught him doing anything wrong."

"I see."

"Even as a baby, he was that way. He almost never cried. And now… He doesn't have any friends, but I don't think he even wants any. I try to help him but…"

"He doesn't seem to want it?" finished Dumbledore. She shook her head gravely.

"At our school, Tom will be surrounded by other children like him." Of course, Harry knew he meant the magic, not the behavior."I will keep a close eye on him. It is my belief that we will be able to help him," Dumbledore tried to reassure her.

"Really?" she asked hopefully. "Then maybe this school won't be such a bad thing."

"That is our hope."

"When will this school start? What will he need for it?"

"School begins September first. The train will leave from King's Cross station. But he will have to return here during the summer."

"Alright," she said, and Harry couldn't help but notice that she seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"And the school will provide everything for him. We have funds for less fortunate children. I myself can go with him and make sure he acquires the necessary supplies. Rest assured, he will be well taken care off." He paused. "I was wondering whether you could tell me anything of Tom Riddle's history. I think he was born here in the orphanage?"

"Yes," replied Mrs. Cole. "I remember, I'd just started working here. It was New Year's Eve and bitterly cold outside that night. We heard a knock on the door and this girl, not much older than I was at the time, staggered onto our front steps. We took her in, and she had the baby within the hour… But she died shortly after," she finished sadly.

"Did she say anything before she died?" asked Dumbledore. "Anything about the boy's father, for instance?"

"Yes, actually, she did," she said with wide eyes. "It was her wish for her boy to be named after Tom, his father, and Marvolo, for her father; said she hoped he would look like his father. Riddle, she said, was his surname. But that's all she was really able to tell us before she passed. No one has ever come to claim Tom for their own and he's been here ever since." Silence followed this statement."I suppose you'd like to see him?" she said, standing up.

"Very much," said Dumbledore, rising too.

She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, giving instructions and to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, Harry saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a bleak and lackluster place in which to grow up.

"Here we are," said Mrs. Cole, as they stopped at a door near the end of a long corridor. She knocked and gently opened the door when there was no response.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr. …" she hesitated. "I'm sorry?" she looked at him.

"Dumbledore," the younger Dumbledore supplied.

"Right, Mr. Dumbledore. He has some good news for you." With that she left them, closing the door behind Harry and the two Dumbledores to give them some privacy.

It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and a plain bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.

Merope had received her dying wish: He was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale — there was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance.

"How do you do, Tom?" said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand.

The boy hesitated before taking the proffered and shaking it. Dumbledore drew up the straight-backed wooden chair beside the bed, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" repeated Riddle. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me? I've heard some of the other helpers ask her to."

"No, no," Dumbledore tried to reassure him.

"I don't believe you!" cried Riddle. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was astonishing for one so young. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes widened as he glared at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue to smile placidly. After a few seconds Riddle's glare transformed into a look of wariness.

"Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school — your new school, if you would like it to be."

"School? What kind of school?" he asked, repeating Mrs. Cole's earlier inquiry, but with a much greater amount of suspicion.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore explained, "is a school for people with special abilities —"

Riddle suddenly leapt from the bed, backing away from Dumbledore. "You're from the asylum, aren't you, 'Professor', is it? I'm not mad!" he shouted furiously.

"I am not from the asylum," said Dumbledore patiently, "and I do not believe you are mad. I am simply a teacher."

"Then why do you want to send me to your 'school!'" he sneered.

"If you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about it."

"You think you can fool me? You can't!"

"I assure you, Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic," said Dumbledore, switching tactics to a more direct approach, sensing that Riddle would not calm down otherwise.

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them in a lie.

"Magic?" he repeated in a whisper.

"That is correct," said Dumbledore.

"It's… it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts," breathed Riddle. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, as though his prayers had finally been answered.

"I knew I was different," he whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right," said Dumbledore, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. "You are a wizard."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: There was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it was not an improvement to the anger that was written on it before; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

"I can speak to snakes. They find me, whisper things to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of."

"Are you a wizard too?"

"I am."

"Prove it," said Riddle at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, 'Tell the truth.'

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I take it, then, that you are accepting your place at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'" Harry knew he was challenging Riddle, as perhaps he never had been before, not even by the adults.

Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant — please, Professor, could you show me?"

Dumbledore carefully drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle leapt to his feet. Harry could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage, for all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of those?"

"All in good time," said Dumbledore, now tucking said wand away. "For now, it would appear your wardrobe needs attending to." A faint rattling could be heard from within the closet, and for the first time, Riddle looked frightened.

"Open the door," said Dumbledore.

Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of worn and tattered clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out, please," instructed Dumbledore.

Riddle took down the quaking box, looking unnerved. "Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" asked Dumbledore.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir," he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

"Open it, and show me," said Dumbledore.

Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. Harry, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of trivial, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay still upon the thin blankets.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies," said Dumbledore calmly."I shall know whether or not this has been done. Thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have — inadvertently, I am sure — been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, upon entering our world, they are required to abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir," said Riddle again.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."Harry knew that it was probably painful for Riddle to admit this, not wanting to show any inadequacies, even though it was quite understandable that a young orphan would not possess any money. But it was necessary for him to be able to buy his own things.

"That is easily remedied," said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. Riddle took it with the only amount of sheepishness Harry had seen so far. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but —"

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" interrupted a curious Riddle, who was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

"In Diagon Alley," said Dumbledore. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything."

"You're coming with me?" asked Riddle, looking up.

"Certainly, if you require my assistance."

"That won't be necessary," said Riddle with an air and vocabulary unbefitting of a boy his age. "I'm used to doing things for myself. I wander around London on my own all the time. How is it that you get to this Diagon Alley — sir?" he added, catching Dumbledore's eye.

"Are you sure? I think it might be best if I accompany you."

"I'm sure," Riddle said shortly and confidently.

Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying Riddle to keep an eye on him, but was surprised when Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment. "Very well." After telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "Ask for Tom the barman — easy enough to remember, as he shares your name."

Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to dispatch an irksome fly.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms," muttered Riddle. Then, as though he could not suppress the question in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know," said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died," said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him."

Police sirens could be heard from outside. "Actually…" Riddle hesitated.

"Yes?" coaxed Dumbledore.

"There's a killer on the loose in London, broke out of the prison. Do you think — maybe it would be best if you accompanied me to this Leaky Cauldron," he said timidly. "I won't need you after that," he added more confidently.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Yes, I can do that." Riddle nodded, not looking at him. Most likely he was unused to being in the position of asking for help of someone so much. Harry knew that Riddle must despise having to do it. But he could also see for the first time a small and vulnerable boy instead of the beginnings of a monster.

Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. "If that is all, then I shall see you next week. We will go to Diagon Alley then." Taking it, Riddle nodded yet again. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken, and Dumbledore was at the door.

The image dissolved and faded — Harry and Dumbledore were amidst darkness, and for a moment all Harry could see was his own body and the older version of Dumbledore — then shifted into a new scene.

The younger Dumbledore made his way to the orphanage again to collect Tom Riddle. Mrs. Cole bade them goodbye at the front door. "Are you ready, Tom?" Riddle nodded his head, "Yes, sir," he said plainly. But Harry could see from the way Riddle's eyes gleamed that he was very eager to get to Diagon Alley. As they walked along the road, Dumbledore asked, "So how are you faring, Tom?"

"Fine," came the unenthusiastic reply.

"Has anything of interest transpired since last we visited?"

"No, sir." It was clear Riddle was already weary of this social exercise.

"No doubt that will remedied with a trip to Diagon Alley. It is a rather impressive establishment. I must warn you, to be prepared for the unexpected. There are other magical creatures besides wizards: goblins, vampires, hags…" Riddle eyebrows rose slightly.

"So — when I've got all my stuff — when do I come to this Hogwarts?" asked Tom.

"You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September," said Dumbledore."In fact, I believe all of the details are included in this envelope," he added, handing it to Tom, "as well as your official letter from Hogwarts and your train ticket."

After that, Tom said close to nothing as the two made their way toward central London, with Harry and the present-day Dumbledore in procession. Nothing significant occurred during the walk; indeed, the only words spoken were Dumbledore's futile attempts at making light conversation and Riddle sometimes answering uninterestedly. Dumbledore soon relented, clearly not wanting to press Riddle into being uncomfortable.

At last they came to the Leaky Cauldron.

"The others don't seem to notice it," observed Riddle.

"This is true," replied Dumbledore. "It is enchanted so that non-magical folk cannot see it," he explained.

All four of them entered the diminutive bar. "Dumbledore! What a pleasant surprise. And who is this?" the barman asked genially.

"Tom, this is Tom Riddle, he will be attending his first year of Hogwarts this coming year," he elaborated to avoid confusing the old bartender. "I am accompanying him here and he will be venturing forth into Diagon Alley."

"I see," said the other Tom pleasantly. "Tom, that's a good name," he said with a wink. "Can I get either of you anything?"

"A large mug of tea would be much appreciated. Would you like anything, Tom?" enquired Dumbledore.

"No thanks," said Riddle, hiding behind his mask of politeness once again.

"Well, you'll have a great time at Hogwarts. You have a good day, now."

"Thank you, sir."

A small boy with brown hair who looked to be the same age as Riddle was walking out of the courtyard into the pub with his father.

"Hi," he said nicely, "Are you going to Hogwarts this year?"

Riddle nodded.

"Me, too," said the boy. "It's my first year. I wonder what House I'll be in. I think I'll be put into Hufflepuff, almost all my family's been. What about you, what House do you think you'll be in?"

Riddle didn't answer and regarded at the boy with a cool expression. No doubt he didn't enjoy being uninformed, particularly if even this common boy knew such information. The boy's smile faded a little, sensing that something was off.

"Walter, come along now," said the friendly boy's father, now waiting at the pub door.

"Well, I'll see you around maybe," he said uncertainly, looking at Riddle curiously. Again, Riddle did not respond.

Dumbledore went to the back and tapped the correct combination of bricks. This time Riddle couldn't keep the enthrallment off his face as the arch appeared, giving them a splendid view of Diagon Alley. Riddle's jaw opened slightly in awe; it seemed to Harry the first time that Riddle had found anything more impressive than himself.

"There it is: Diagon Alley," Dumbledore said regally. But Riddle seemed not to be paying much attention to Dumbledore, and this time, Harry really couldn't blame him. He remembered feeling overwhelmed with his first experience in the magical world.

"I must run some errands, but I will be here when you are finished to take you back to your home."

Riddle nodded dumbly and stepped through the arch, his eyes flittering back and forth, trying to soak it all in. And then the arch was no more than a flat expanse of brick.

"I'll have that cup of tea, first, of course," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

"Here you are, sir," said Tom, handing the younger Dumbledore a steaming mug.

"Thank you very much."

The two talked about trivialities such as how business was going, news in the Wizarding world, the weather. After about five to ten minutes, Harry was worried Dumbledore would run the memory until Riddle was done, which would surely take hours. He began to wonder why he didn't simply skip forward in time as before. But soon, he got his answer.

A clear ringing sounded and Tom the barman cut his conversation off suddenly, looking alarmed. He ran to the back room behind the counter and after a few moments returned, looking much more troubled than before. "There's been an attack on Diagon Alley! Grindelwald, they say Grindelwald is here!"

Dumbledore immediately sprang into action, going to the aide of patrons in the hazardous area and more importantly… "Tom." With that, Dumbledore ran into the arch in the wall and raced into the village. This younger Dumbledore was spryer than the older one, and Harry had trouble keeping up with both of them. _Good thing I ran a lot this summer_, thought Harry. The same strange distress signal was blaring in the shopping center. People were running in every which way direction. Harry didn't know the details, but had heard the basics revolving around the legend of Grindelwald. He was an evil wizard who killed for power. The more people he killed, the more power he would accumulate. It became a ravenous addiction, worsening still with every murder he committed.

They searched in vain for what Harry was sure were agonizing minutes for the past-time Dumbledore, although he always stopped for pleas for help that came his way. And then there was no mistaking him: the pale, raven-haired boy was standing in the street just in front of Ollivander's.

"Tom!"

The boy immediately turned around at the sound of his name. He looked a little befuddled at all the chaos. "Professor? What's going on?"

"Danger, Tom. Stick close to me. Quickly, now."

Riddle strode over, in no particular hurry. "Danger? What danger?" he asked, and it was with a little admiration that Harry heard no trace of fear in his voice and still the same inquisitiveness.

Then an utterly different voice sang with laughter. Absorbed in the scene before his eyes, Harry was a bit startled to turn around and see none other than Gellert Grendelwald standing almost directly behind him. "Ah, Albus, how are we doing?" he asked with an air of one sitting for a cordial visit over afternoon tea, his eyes skipping over Dumbledore's young companion.

The auburn-haired Dumbledore pushed Riddle behind him saying, "It was foolish of you to come here, Gellert."

Even though it was only a memory, Harry could feel his flight instincts starting to kick in. The thought of what this man had done was comparable to Voldemort, brutally killing hundreds of people.

"Now, now, no need to be rude," he said with a merry smile that Harry thought was eerily incongruous. "And who is your little friend, here?" he said, cocking his head and peering at Riddle with such hunger that Harry didn't blame Dumbledore for trying to nudge Riddle closer behind him and out of sight (who was currently poking his head to the side of Dumbledore to get a better look) even though Grindelwald clearly already knew he was there and Dumbledore couldn't shield the small boy's body any better than he was now.

"Yes, such power for one so small. At first I thought it was you, Albus, as you do possess much power," he nodded his head in polite acknowledgement. "But I knew at once that the magical signature was far too dark for you. You have much hate, and anger coursing through you," Grindelwald continued, now directing his words at Riddle, "They are a strength, not a fault as Dumbledore would have you believe."

"Who are you?" Riddle demanded boldly. Having heard him give demands like this before, Harry could detect a hint of uncertainty in his voice this time, but the authority was still there, inconsistent for a boy his age. This made Grindelwald roar with wild laughter. "Pity, he is a Muggle, for how else would he not recognize my name? But my question has not yet been answered, who are _you_?"

Dumbledore glanced sharply back at Riddle over his shoulder, but he seemed to understand that it was not the wisest of decisions to give your name to an apparently unstable megalomaniac.

"Do not entertain the thought that for a second you could fool us into believing it is your wish to mentor him and offer him counsel. You and I both know precisely what it is that you want with him," Dumbledore pronounced curtly.

"You're right!" Grindelwald said roughly, abruptly whipping out his wand at the same time and pointing it at Riddle, who had managed to sidle almost halfway out behind the younger Dumbledore. He gasped and hid behind the older wizard, gripping Dumbledore's hand as he did so, shocking Harry and probably young Dumbledore, as well. Riddle now looked every bit the scared young boy you would normally expect to see in a situation like this. The transformation was astonishing. He seemed to realize his error and ripped his hand away with slight disgust written on his face, ashamed with actions which exhibited a highly uncharacteristic lack of composure. Dumbledore was probably stunned given his past experiences with the boy, but intensely focused on ensuring Grindelwald could not harm Riddle, showed nothing of this beyond the slight widening of his eyes and stiffening of his shoulders. For some reason, this made Grindelwald giggle gleefully. "Come on, Dumbledore, give me the boy, and I will leave peacefully. I swear to you no one else will come to harm. You wouldn't want the blood of so many on your hands, now, would you? After all, it's only one, very small, boy."

"I will certainly not 'give you the boy', as you say. But no one else will be dying today on your account, Grindelwald." Harry noticed that the two men were now making use of the opposite's surname, which for some odd reason they had not been before.

Harry wasn't sure who struck first, but the scene was soon immersed in a display of magic as impressive as what he had witnessed at the Ministry between the same (albeit older) man and Harry's own fated rival. As the two wizards fought, it was surreal — almost like déjà vu — to watch Dumbledore protect the younger (and not to mention similar-looking) wizard as he had done for Harry not even a year ago.

As expected, Grindelwald cast spells that wielded a powerful force. But Dumbledore was powerful in his own right and used his energy more wisely. His careful attention to tactics earned him the advantage as time pressed on. Virtually evenly matched, it was a while before either of the two men relented. Grindelwald, now sensing Dumbledore pushing into the offensive, began to make use of his own acumen. Dumbledore's primary objective was to protect Tom and he was able to hold Grindelwald until authorities arrived.

With a mischievous smile, Grindelwald brought his wand down like a hammer and two things happened simultaneously. Grindelwald disappeared and Harry heard a loud _crack! _The walkway splintered and crumbled, and huge chunks of broken pavement flew up as if a small bomb had been detonated. The buildings shook, some collapsing, and windows shattered. Dumbledore put a protective bubble around him and Tom where Harry could see the concrete halt and slide of as if by some invisible force. The younger Dumbledore also managed to expand the defensive magical barrier to others in the vicinity as well; but everything had happened so fast that the spell was not quick enough to save everyone, some were struck and Harry was sure that at the velocity the debris was moving, most of them had not survived the impact. People were screaming in terror and running pell-mell in wild pandemonium. The panic was almost tangible. Harry got a shock when some of the wreckage landed right on top of him… and straight through him — he could not be harmed within a memory. Many people were struggling to their feet and some pushed their way through the rubble. Dumbledore helped some of the civilians but it was clear he wanted to get Tom out of there. "Come, Tom. Grasp my arm, please," he said urgently.

Riddle looked at him somewhat puzzled by this request but this time, did as Dumbledore said without argument.

Suddenly, they appeared in front of the door to the orphanage. In the memory, Harry did not feel the sensation of apparition, for which he was grateful.

"Hey, if you can do this, why didn't you do that on the way there? What is that called, what you just did?" asked Riddle.

"It is called Apparition — only those of age are allowed to transport in this manner, and I rather enjoy walking, to answer your first question."

"Who was he, that man?" asked the young Riddle.

Harry saw that Dumbledore hesitated before answering, gauging how much information he could trust Riddle with, weighing how much the exploits of Grindelwald would deter Riddle, and how much they might resonate with him. "He is a dark wizard. One who has caused untold horror amongst our population. He has all but forgotten what it means to be human, living a depraved and unfulfilled life. He would have killed you today without as much as a second thought. I tell you this, not to scare you, but to demonstrate the pain and destitution that lies in wait for those who wander the path Grindelwald has taken. Grindelwald may only be an agent of malicious brutality now, but this was not always so. Alas, many are seduced by the slow deceit of broken promises of power and fame and grandeur, fall into the void, and are lost to the darkness forever. It is a terrible way to live," he finished gravely.

Riddle seemed to contemplate these words and Harry wondered how much of an impact they made on this younger, human version of Voldemort. _Obviously, not very much_, thought Harry. Harry pondered Dumbledore's words, as well, but more because it bolstered his sneaking suspicions that Dumbledore was more familiar with Grindelwald than Harry was presently aware of. But perhaps this was a topic Dumbledore would allow Harry to explore. It also did not elude Harry that Dumbledore didn't actually say much about Grindelwald himself, and it certainly didn't with Riddle either who asked, "Why? Why does he kill people? He must have a reason." The question, so innocently posed, it seemed, was disturbing coming from a child who should still hold the naïveté that killing was bad and that was that.

"We may never understand the minds of those absorbed in madness," was all Dumbledore said in response.

Riddle pursed his lips in dissatisfaction with the enigmatic answer, but did not press the matter any further. "What is the house that boy was referring to?" asked Riddle.

"There are four Houses at Hogwarts that each student is sorted into and will remain with that House or the duration of his or her career at Hogwarts; they become rather like your family whilst at school. I will collect the rest of your supplies and bring them to you later. What were you able to procure in your short time at Diagon Alley?"

"Just my wand, sir." Harry wasn't surprised that was the first item Riddle procured. It had also what he had been most looking forward to at Diagon Alley, and he was sure it was the same for everyone else entering their first year at Hogwarts, as well.

"Alright, then. Remember, magic is not allowed outside of school. Now, I must go at once. More people are in need of help. I am sorry Tom, but I must leave you now. Perhaps I shall answer your questions more fully at another time. Now, Mrs. Cole will be escorting you to the station, so I shall see you at Hogwarts." Mrs. Cole was to take young Tom Riddle to the station so she would not become suspicious. After all, normal schools would be taken by train or car. All Dumbledore said that it was not in London and farther north. She would drop him off there and Tom was clever enough not to cross the barrier when she was present. Dumbledore had explained mounting the platform to the Hogwarts Express on the way to Diagon Alley.

Riddle nodded and the young Dumbledore vanished with a pop.

"I think that will do," said the white-haired Dumbledore at Harry's side, and seconds later, they were soaring weightlessly through darkness once more, before landing squarely in the present-day office.

"Sit down, please, Harry," said Dumbledore, landing beside Harry.

Harry obeyed, his mind still full of what he had just seen.

"He believed it much quicker than I did — I mean, when you told him he was a wizard," said Harry. "I didn't believe Hagrid at first, when he told me."

"Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was — to use his word — 'special'," said Dumbledore.

"Did you know — then?" asked Harry.

"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" said Dumbledore. "No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and — most interestingly and ominously of all — he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. And as you saw, they were not the random experiments typical of young wizards. He was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the hanged rabbit and the young children he lured into a cave were most suggestive. Considering his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination, I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless. For others' sake as much as his.

"I also want to draw your attention to certain features of the scene we have just witnessed, for they have a great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings. Firstly, Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless. He did not want help or companionship on his trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one."

"But he did ask you to go with him. I know it was because he was scared, but that's normal for a kid," Harry pointed out. "Voldemort now would never ask for help like that… And with Grindelwald, when he was scared…"

"He grabbed my hand, yes. Very true, Harry. I was very surprised to say the least. It shows us that young Tom Riddle was not yet Lord Voldemort, and perhaps capable of leading a happy childhood. Which I believe may be important to note for later on. I trust that you also noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, 'Tom'?"

Harry nodded.

"There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, he wished to be different, separate, notorious. He shed his name, as you know, within a few short years of that conversation and created the mask of 'Lord Voldemort' behind which he has been hidden for so long.

"And finally, Harry, the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this hoarder's tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later."

"Yes, sir."

"Time is making fools of us again," said Dumbledore, indicating the dark sky beyond the windows. "It is time for bed, I think."

And on that note he waved to Harry, who understood himself to be dismissed and bade goodnight to the Headmaster. Harry trudged up the six flights of stairs to the Gryffindor dormitories, where he fell asleep and his dreams were occupied by the young Tom Riddle.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 10:

Harry is busy with Quidditch, Snape's extra lessons, hiding his feelings for Ginny from Ron and classes. He receives help from an anonymous tutor and is doing surprisingly well in some of his classes. And then he, along with Dumbledore, continues to delve into Voldemort's past and for the first time, Dumbledore tasks Harry with an assignment. More trouble ensues in Snape's class; Hermione and Draco have a heated debate and in the process, both learn things about the other they never would have guessed.

"_For once in your life, can you stop being such a prude? Why do you always have to show everyone up, does it give you a sense of accomplishment? Well, let me give you a rare bit of advice: stop it. It just irritates the hell out of everyone. You have nothing — no name, no honor, no dignity — to hold up. No matter what you do, you'll still be a Mudblood."_

"_What is it? What have I ever done to you?" answered Hermione, whose voice was rising with anger. "I can answer that for you: nothing. Nothing. I've done absolutely nothing and yet you insist to do whatever you can to belittle me."_

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] We are assuming the year is 2008 during this time.

[2] I don't think Hermione is necessarily religious, but I would think at least one of her parents is. So she would have been raised not to use crude language and such, and taking the Lord's name in vain, etc.

A/N:

Wow. My last couple chapters have been long ones. I tried to make this one shorter, but was unable to find a good stopping point. Oh well, I hope that's a good thing and not a bad thing for all you readers out there.

I decided to make the caretakers different than Rowling depicted them. I picture gentler, more timid, matronly, nun-like St. Teresa sort of women instead of the more roughshod cockney characters she had. It might be unrealistic, but whatever. It's a story. Plus, I can totally picture young Tom completely terrorizing those poor women! For Mrs. Cole, I imagine Elizabeth Mitchell when she played a nun on _House_ (she is most famous for playing Juliet on _Lost_).

Okay, so now I'm going to take a moment to explain how I created the class schedule at Hogwarts. If you don't care, then just ignore me and don't forget to check in two weeks' time for updates! Or you can just put this story on your update alert. ;) Also, I have uploaded Harry's schedule online which you can view for your pleasure at: doc/64627591/Class-Schedule.

For class periods, it's very strange to determine because the breaks are a quarter of an hour long. I feel like breaks are usually shorter at 10 minutes, but because the castle is big, it makes sense to make it longer. I know wizard school isn't like regular (nonfictional) schools, but schedules would work pretty much the same. Classes would have to end and start consistently before the hour and half hour. But 15 minutes is half so rounding is confusing. So for example, 1 hour is 1 credit, right? At my school, with the ten minute break that leaves a 50 minute class or an hour and 50 minute class. Classes always start and 10:30 or 3:30, etc., and always end at, say, 11:20 or 4:50. Make sense? … Good.

This would then mean that the equivalent of 1 credit would mean a 45 minute class at Hogwarts. That seems really cheap to me. Fifty minutes I feel isn't that far off, but only taking 75% of the time for your credits I think is stretching it. Plus, 45 minutes seems like a really short amount of time to teach your students anything. I know I feel that way sometimes with my 50 minute classes. I know it doesn't make much sense, but an hour and fifteen minutes seems like a fairer amount of allotted time for 1 credit, or whatever it is Hogwarts utilizes. Furthermore, 1 hour and 45 minutes seems like a better substitute for 1.5 credit hours than 1 hour and 15 minutes. This is where the problem occurs, I think an hour and 45 minutes is also more suitable for 2 credit hours than 2 hours and 15 minutes. Which is a problem. Maybe it's because the break is less of a percentage of class time: only 12.5 percent. But I used 2 hours and 15 minutes anyways, and it does keep things consistent. Although I believe Rowling stated that a normal class is about an hour and a half, I feel that "double" classes of about 3 hours are an unrealistic time for a class unless it's a lab of some sort like Potions or Herbology. Even 2 1/2 hours seems much too long. This isn't a college; there are young kids and they will not have the attention span to be still for that long, in my opinion. And those poor teachers! I don't think anything should be longer than 2 hours. I'll make exceptions for N.E.W.T. classes and "labs". I don't believe 15 minutes is too much longer. So, do you agree that making the classes 15 minutes longer as opposed to 15 minutes shorter is appropriate? Or would 45 minute, 1 hour and 15 minute, and 1 hour and 45 minute classes make more sense? I really don't like the idea of 45 minute classes.

As well as this I feel classes should usually be MWF or TTH, it just makes sense. Or once a week or MW or WF. I would think that classes start at 8 or 9. Probably 8; 9 is pretty late to me.

Also, Rowling once said there are about 1000 students attending Hogwarts. But I think it was off the cuff and she didn't think it out. She admitted as much later on when she was questioned about it. 1000, I believe is far too many students. We know there are only 5 boys in Harry's year. Calculated out, that would mean 280 students total. Because they are sorted by the sorting hat, numbers may not be equal, but it's hard to believe that only about 4% of the boys in Harry's year were sorted into Gryffindor. That is why I believe Hogwarts has around 300 students. Which is a very small number for a very large castle. Hell, that's a small number for any school. But it makes more sense, unless there are about 20 other Gryffindor boys in Harry's year that he just has bothered to get to know or learn their names. Which I don't think is realistic. Surely they would be in some of his classes. That would also mean a class size of 70 and in jointed classes, possibly hundreds. Far too many for a primary school. Unless there are also 30 or 40 other teachers Harry also doesn't know about. And since we know teachers don't share subjects (the teachers we do know of teach through all seven years we have seen), that would mean that 30 or 40 more subjects are taught at Hogwarts. Plus, 1000 students wouldn't fit on the 4-carriage Hogwarts Express. Because all of this, I have concluded that there are only about 300 students.

I know this isn't explained in detail in the story, but I like to have these things sorted out anyways. Call it OCD.

I probably could have found a more concise way to explain all of this, but I just started typing and I don't fine edit Author's Notes because, well, that's just a tad silly. I'm not that much of a perfectionist. And this does affect how their day goes, if only slightly. Or if, say, I want to tell you all what time it is should I feel inclined to do so — not that it particularly matters — but it's comforting to know that if I wanted to, I could. I tend to believe that knowing all of the details, even if I don't describe all of them makes the story more authentic. I think you can tell if writers only have a vague idea in their minds, or if they know their story and its settings extensively like the back of their hand. For example, can you tell that either Tolkien or Stephanie Meyer held their fictional world in their mind better than the other? … That's what I thought. (Not, that I'm Tolkien or anything. But I know who I'd rather attempt to model my writing techniques after).

Anyways, a long and probably boring aside, but if there's a possibility that anyone cares and has a suggestion, well, then dangnabbit if I won't ask for it. I'm not sure whether or not people even read these. I guess I'll find out. I'm just putting extra information about how I formed some of my ideas, and sometimes will solicit reader opinions to make my story better. My philosophy is just put it out there, and if people don't read it, no harm done. I will try to make these a short as possible in the future for your sake.

Signing off,

fanster


	11. The Secret Riddle

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Harry Potter. But if my evil plot goes according to plan, I soon will. Mwahahaha!

Somehow, I managed to overlook **Kingswriter**, who wrote me a review in the seventh chapter. I'm terribly sorry, it was an honest mistake; I didn't forget you! I also wish to thank **harryandme19** and **hpfanfictionreader** for reviewing.

Chapter title taken from HBP (Chapter 13). Potions class and memory content taken from HBP.

* * *

Chapter 10

The Secret Riddle

It was the second day of Quidditch trials. Harry started out by having the players do a couple of warm-up laps, then some simple passing and flying drills. Finally, he had them scrimmage. There was no need to include Seekers, and he had to play Beater because he was only trying out three of them. There were an odd number of Chasers as well, so he had Katie be a neutral, offense-only player. She would have given an unfair advantage to either team, anyways.

Ginny was almost as good and outflew everyone else , but he put her on Ron's team, as McLaggen had complained she was throwing softballs at him, which she was clearly not. Still, Harry didn't want any room for excuses. It became clear that the third Keeper was not as good as the other two (they were alternating taking turns), so Harry respectfully dismissed him. This was hard to do — he didn't like having to tell people they weren't good enough to make the team, but Coulter seemed to understand and took it well enough.

Harry was now fairly certain who he wanted as his last Chaser. Sometimes he would try to match them as evenly as possible, and other times he would place those on the bubble on the same team to see which of them stood out. Dean wasn't as good of a flyer as the other two. Nick Crosby was probably the most skilled out of the three, but he was prone to being predictable with the ball. Seamus, however, while his game wasn't as polished as Crosby's, had a lot of potential. That much was clear to Harry. His skills were more rudimentary, but with practice, Harry believed he could be a good Chaser. He had a natural instinct of where to be and what to do, his execution just wasn't up to par yet. Harry knew he was taking a risk — he was taking the gamble that Seamus would become a better player than Crosby over time, but he thought it was a necessary one. Crosby would be able to contribute more right away, but he had to look toward the future as well. And the only way Seamus would grow was through experience. He didn't want to have to choose one over the other where Seamus and Dean were concerned, not wanting to cause a rift in the boys' dormitory. But he also knew he couldn't make his selections based on personal matters.

The Beater positions had been decided, too. He had already determined he would be keeping Jimmy, and between the other two, clear differences emerged which made the selection much easier than the Chasers. Harry initially thought that Sloper, who had been on the team last year, would most likely not make the team; he displayed sloppy play in the matches Harry saw. But he had clearly improved and had gotten much stronger over the summer. Coote wasn't quite as strong as Sloper, but he was a savvy player and made good decisions. He had almost knocked Harry off his broom a couple of times. His craftiness and hardiness more than made up for his deficit of strength compared to Sloper. He was rather on the skinny side and wiry unlike the typical build for a Beater, but he was much stronger than he looked and he was a tough kid.

Now that there was only one position left to resolve, there was no point in delaying the matter. He stopped the scrimmage and praised the team for their hard work and, after a quick break, called for a shootout. Harry was sure he was as nervous for Ron as Ron was himself. Well, maybe not that much, Harry thought apprehensively, upon seeing Ron's face pale considerably. He had Ron go first to put him out of his misery, and hopefully lessen the pressure on him to match McLaggen's performance. If he could do that, he would secure his place on the team. Harry had ample reason not to include McLaggen on the roster from what he saw in the scrimmages. But if he heavily outperformed Ron here, Harry would have to reconsider. McLaggen had his own flaws, but Ron did have a nerve problem. And as captain, he had to do what was best for his team. But that would be ugly and he had no desire to find out what kind of strain that would put on his relationship with Ron.

He saved four out of five, which was an excellent showing. Ginny was the only one to score on McLaggen. Harry had them complete a redo, only to receive the same score results. "She's taking it easy on him because he's her brother!" Cormac complained when Ron saved Ginny's goal this time.

Harry saw no attempt at ill-play, but he didn't want McLaggen to have any reason to dispute his final decision.

"What?!" objected Ginny, angry at having her integrity questioned in such a way, "That's a complete load of —!"

"Fine," said Harry. "We'll have another redo; this time I want you to sit out, Ginny."

"But —"

"I don't think you cheated, Ginny," he said quietly away from McLaggen. "You know I don't. I think everyone else would agree with me. But I don't want to give McLaggen any excuse. This way, he'll have no reason to complain," he explained. Ginny still looked upset, but not with him, Harry realized gleefully. He stowed that thought away. He very much doubted Ron would be very happy to find out about Harry's feelings for his little sister in his current state of anxiety.

The other Chasers resumed a four-man shoot out. Both Ron and McLaggen stopped every single one. On the next one, Seamus scored on Ron, but Katie Bell put a goal past McLaggen. Harry believed he had seen enough.

He had thought about posting the results later to make it less humiliating, but decided that was probably too impersonal and he wanted to be able to explain the reasoning behind his judgment. Especially to Dean and Nick Crosby. "Alright, great job everybody, let's head back down."

"You have all worked very hard these past couple of days, and you should all be proud of what you've accomplished here," he said once the group touched down. "For those of you who don't end up making the team, this may not have to be your last chance. If you improve by next year, you could very well find yourself on the team. For those of you who do make it, don't rest on your laurels because you will have to work hard to keep your spot." He paused for breath. "Everyone here had a great chance of making this team; you made it past the first cut, and no matter what happens, you should leave the pitch with your head held high." It could be devastating to come this far and not make the team, so Harry wanted to make sure to break the news as tastefully as he could. He would give Ron the liberty of relief first, he looked a little green.

"Cormac, Ron," he said, pulling them aside.

"You have both done well, but I have decided that Ron will be the goalie for —" [1].

"What?!" exclaimed McLaggen.

The other players looked over at his indignant shout. It was obvious now to them who had won out. Katie and Ginny looked happy for Ron. And so did, frankly, most of the other players in assembly. Ron looked relieved beyond words.

"I'm clearly better than him! He got scored on two more times than me!"

Harry wasn't going to disagree there. True, Cormac was more talented and athletically gifted. He was a natural. But he let that talent go to waste in Harry's opinion, because of his attitude. "Yes, but he had three more saves than you and you were even in the shoot-outs," he explained, now starting to become angry. He didn't appreciate being yelled at. "Ron had better Chasers shooting on his goal for the majority of the time as well." He had done this deliberately so Cormac wouldn't be able to dispute him, moving Seamus and Crosby to the neutral spot at times and placing Katie on Cormac's team alongside Ginny.

"Not only that," Harry continued as McLaggen sputtered angrily, "but you criticize your teammates far too much. You allow yourself to get distracted far too easily and that's usually why you got scored on. People don't like being yelled at. Some, understandably, reacted poorly to this and their performance suffered. That's not something I need on my team. It's one thing to give constructive criticism or to communicate relevant information, but you were ordering them around, incorrectly at times I might add." His words, Harry could see, were having no effect on McLaggen. But he would stand by his verdict because it was the truth.

"My assessment is fair. And my decision is final," he stated, asserting his authority as team captain [2].

When McLaggen stormed off in a rage, Harry knew he made the right decision. Anyone that volatile would be poisonous to a team. He would have to make sure McLaggen didn't hex Ron or anything, Harry wouldn't put it past him.

After that drama, Harry did the Beaters next. Jimmy and Coote were happy, Sloper was a little disappointed, but didn't pitch a fit like McLaggen. And Coote was a seventh year, so Harry had the feeling Sloper (who was a fourth year) would make next year's team.

Finally, it came time to inform the Chasers of the situation. It was obvious that Katie and Ginny had made the cut, Katie having been vital to the previous teams' successes and Ginny being a superb and elusive flyer despite an inferior broom.

Harry told them as much. "Obviously, Katie, you made the cut. And Ginny, I thought you had the next best trial out of the Chasers." The three males looked a little nervous as the two girls joined Ron, Peakes and Coote. "Dean, you did well, better than I expected, but out of the three of you, you were the weakest flyer. You have a good mind for the game, but —"

"It's alright, Harry. I know Quidditch isn't really my thing. Seamus sort of dragged me out here. It was fun, but I honestly didn't expect to get this far. I didn't grow up with Quidditch. It would've been cool to make the team, but these two are better than I am," he said, pointing his thumb in the direction of Seamus and Crosby. "If they ever make a football team, I'm your guy," he said with a grin.

Harry almost sighed in relief. That made things considerably less complicated and reduced the tenseness he was feeling.

"I'll catch up with you later," Dean said to Seamus, feeling that Seamus should receive this news on his own; he had wanted this much more than Dean had.

"Okay, you two. The toughest decision I had to make was between the both of you," he tried to reinforce. "Nick, you have more technical skill out of the two of you and I could tell you have had more experience."

He nodded, "I play on a club team." Well, at least he gets to play somewhere, Harry thought, although that's not the same as playing for your school. And this confirmed Harry's impression that Crosby was close to reaching his peak. "Seamus, your skills aren't as polished as Nick's, but you have a knack for the ball and instinctively know where to position yourself. But you need to work on your accuracy on scoring the ball and controlling your flight." He nodded somberly. "Nick, you would be able to help out immediately, and you had a nice trial, but I think Seamus has a lot of potential and, with some work, could really help us out. He moved well with Katie and Ginny, who are our other Chasers, and I think complements them a bit better. You are also somewhat predictable in your movements, which is why I think you slowed down as we got deeper into the scrimmages." He turned his attention to Seamus, "That is why I'm picking you, Seamus, but you have to promise to work hard and work extra to hone your skills. I can help you if you want."

By now, Seamus looked stunned, and even Crosby seemed a little surprised.

"Understand, Nick," explained Harry, "that you're still a good player. It really was a hard decision."

"I understand, Harry," said Crosby, obviously disappointed, but not irate with not being picked. "Thanks for giving me the chance," he said, holding out his hand. Harry shook it and felt even worse, Crosby was handling this with more class than anyone else had and unlike Sloper, he wouldn't have the chance to try out again next year; he was a seventh year. Harry tried not to let that inform his decision since that was an emotional response rather than a logical one. He needed to pick the best team regardless of what year they were in. He wouldn't favor people just because they were older. The best person would be picked for the team.

"Hopefully, no one gets hurt, but if they do, expect to be called up."

Crosby lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-smile.

"Thanks, Harry," Seamus finally spoke up.

"You earned it," replied Harry.

"What should I do to get better?" he asked. Harry was glad he was taking this seriously and not making Harry regret his choice.

"Well —"

"I can help him out, Harry," supplied Crosby. "After all, I have played for a while so I know the game and all of the basics."

Harry raised his brow. "You'd be willing to do that?"

Crosby shrugged. "I want to see Gryffindor win just as much as everyone else does."

Harry considered it, "You know this won't get you on the team…" he said doubtfully. He hated saying it, but he wanted to make sure he understood.

"I know," Crosby interceded. "I just like playing the game. I wouldn't mind. Seriously. I'd rather spend my spare time flying than staying in the castle. I'd just go flying by myself anyways."

"Would you be alright with that, Seamus?"

"I wouldn't mind that at all," answered Seamus.

"I'm okay with it, as long as you two are fine with it." Both of them nodded their heads. "Alright then, you two can sort out your schedule and everything. Let me know how everything goes." Then they both headed back for the castle and Harry could see Dean on the edge of the pitch waiting for Seamus, presumably to find out what happened. Ron was waiting for Harry, as was Hermione who had been watching from the stands.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked.

"Oh, Nick offered to help Seamus out. I told him he'd probably have to put in some extra work if he wanted to stay on the team."

"That was nice of him," Hermione remarked.

"Yes, it was," agreed Harry.

"So, you picked Seamus," mused Ron sounding somewhat surprised.

"Yeah, I think once he shapes up a bit, he'll be really good for us. Crosby is better at the moment, but he's predictable and I like the chemistry better with Seamus in the mix with Katie and Ginny. Crosby, I just didn't think was going to improve much. I'm taking a bit of a gamble, but I think it's a calculated risk."

Ron nodded, "That makes sense, mate. A lot of players end up that way. You see it in the league all of the time. The better player at the time'll get drafted higher, but one of the players after them ends up having a better career" [3].

He was glad Ron approved of his choice. He did, after all, know more about Quidditch than Harry did, even if Harry had more experience playing. Or maybe Ron was just happy he didn't get cut.

"Thanks… for picking me," Ron muttered quietly.

"Ron, I meant every word. McLaggen was too risky to have on the team. I don't think he would've done well with everyone on the team."

"Yes, Ron," agreed Hermione. "You did much better than McLaggen, he was reckless and impulsive. And he's completely full of himself." This seemed to cheer up Ron a great deal.

The spent the rest of the day quietly, but enjoyable in the virtually empty common room but for themselves. It was nice outside, but rather chilly. The three relaxed cozily by the fireplace, Hermione doing homework, and Harry and Ron somewhat working on theirs until Hermione was finished, and the other two figured they had done enough.

The remainder of their time was used to play Exploding Snap, and Harry brought a deck of poker cards he had swiped from the Dursleys and Hermione taught them how to play various Muggle card games.

On Monday morning, the trio dissected their way down the familiar path to the dungeon classroom that had, for so long, been Snape's (Ron grumbled resentfully all the way down).

When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade (no surprise there), but four Slytherins, including Malfoy along with Zabini and Theodore Nott, had made it through. Four Ravenclaws were there, Susan Bones among them, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry liked despite his rather pompous manner.

"Harry," Ernie said portentously, holding out his hand as Harry approached, "didn't get a chance to speak in Defense Against The Dark Arts last week. Good lesson, I thought, but Shield Charms are old hat, of course, for us old D.A. lags… And how are you, Ron, Hermione?"

Before they could say more than "fine," the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him through the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, "Harry, m'boy," greeted Slughorn as would a congenial old uncle, "it's good to see you."

Harry saw Malfoy dart him a glare from the other side of the room.

"Hello, Professor," said Harry, not wanting to look like a brownnoser but trying to be polite.

When the queue entered the dungeon, it was to find that it was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Harry, Ron, and Hermione sniffed interestedly as they passed large, bubbling cauldrons. The four Slytherins took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to share a table with Ernie. They chose the one nearest a gold-colored cauldron that was emitting one of the most seductive scents Harry had ever inhaled: Somehow it reminded him simultaneously of treacle tart, the woody smell of a broomstick handle, and something flowery he thought he might have smelled at the Burrow. He found that he was breathing very slowly and deeply and that the potion's fumes seemed to be filling him up like drink. A great contentment stole over him; he grinned across at Ron, who grinned back lazily.

"Now then," said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors. "Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making."

"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.

"Yes, m'boy?"

"I haven't got a book or scales or ingredients or anything, nor has Ron, we didn't realize we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T. class, you see —"

"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention… not to worry, dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts…"

Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

"Now then," said Slughorn, returning to the front of the class, "I've prepared a few potions for you to have a look at, just out of interest. These are the sort of potions you ought to be able to make after completing your N.E.W.T.s. You ought to have heard of 'em, even if you haven't made 'em yet. Can anyone tell me what this one is?"

He indicated the cauldron nearest the Slytherin table. Harry raised himself slightly in his seat and saw what looked like plain water boiling away inside it.

Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed to her.

"It's Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion. It forces the drinker to tell the truth," said Hermione.

"Very good, very good!" said Slughorn happily. "Now," he continued, pointing at the cauldron nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known… Featured in a few Ministry leaflets lately too… Who can — ?"

Hermione's hand was fastest once more. "It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she said. Harry too had recognized the slow-bubbling, mud-like substance in the second cauldron, but did not resent Hermione for getting the credit in answering the question; it was she, after all, who had succeeded in making it, back in their second year. "Excellent, excellent! Now, this one here… yes, my dear?" said Slughorn, now looking slightly bemused, as Hermione's hand punched the air again.

"It's Amortentia."

"And so it is! It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn, who was looking mightily impressed, "but I assume you know what it does?"

"It's the most powerful love potion in the world," said Hermione.

"Quite right! You recognized it, I suppose, by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen?"

"And the steam rising in characteristic spirals," said Hermione enthusiastically, "and it's supposed to smell differently to each person according to what attracts us; for instance, I can smell freshly mown grass and new parchment and —"

But she turned slightly pink and did not complete the sentence.

"May I ask your name, my dear?" said Slughorn, ignoring Hermione's embarrassment.

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?"

"No, I don't think so, sir. I'm Muggle-born."

Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

"Oho! 'One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she's the best in our year!' I'm assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger," said Slughorn genially.

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face. Hermione turned to Harry with a radiant expression and whispered, "Did you really tell him I'm the best in the year? Oh, Harry!"

"Well, I could've told him _that_." said Ron in a low voice, who for some reason, looked annoyed. "You're obviously the best in our year."

Hermione smiled but made a shushing gesture, so that they could hear what Slughorn was saying. Ron looked slightly disgruntled.

"Now, Amortentia doesn't really create love, of course. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. No, this will simply cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous and powerful potion in this room — oh yes," he said, nodding gravely at Malfoy and Nott, both of whom were smirking skeptically. "When you have seen as much of life as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love." This made Harry think back to his lesson with Dumbledore. Merope certainly qualified as having an 'obsessive love". He figured Slughorn was actually right. It was this potion that Merope had probably utilized on the Muggle, Tom Riddle… and look what happened because of it…

"And now," said Slughorn, bringing Harry out of his reverie, "it is time for us to go to work."

"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the color of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle spilled out.

"Oho," said Slughorn again. Harry was sure that Slughorn had not forgotten the potion at all, but had waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "Yes. That. Well, that one, ladies and gentlemen, is a most curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned, smiling, to look at Hermione, who had let out an audible gasp, "that you know what Felix Felicis does, Miss Granger?"

"It's liquid luck," said Hermione excitedly. "It makes you lucky!"

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

"Quite right, take another ten points for Gryffindor. Yes, it's a funny little potion, Felix Felicis," said Slughorn. "Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed… at least until the effects wear off."

"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" said Terry Boot eagerly.

"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know… highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally…"

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" asked Michael Corner with great interest.

"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."

He gazed dreamily into the distance. Whether he was playacting or not, thought Harry, the effect was good.

"And that," said Slughorn, apparently coming back to earth, "is what I shall be offering as a prize in this lesson."

There was silence in which every bubble and gurgle of the surrounding potions seemed to magnify tenfold.

"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," said Slughorn, taking a minuscule glass bottle with a cork in it out of his pocket and showing it to them all. "Enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt."

"Now, I must give you warning that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competitions… sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections. So the winner is to use it on an ordinary day only… and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!"

"So," said Slughorn, suddenly brisk, "how are you to win this fabulous prize? Well, by turning to page nineteen of Advanced Potion Making. We have a little over two hours left to us, which should be time enough for you to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. I know it is more complex than anything you have attempted before, and I do not expect a perfect potion from anybody. The person who does best, however, will win little Felix here. Now, off you go!"

There was a scraping of chairs as everyone drew themselves up straighter, and a riffle of the flipping of pages, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was apparent. Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day. The question was why? But there was no time to ponder that particular quandary. Harry bent swiftly over the tattered book Slughorn had lent him.

To his annoyance he saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, rendering the margins black as the printed portions. Bending low to decipher the ingredients (even here, there were amendments and additional comments) Harry hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what he needed. Dashing back to his cauldron, he noticed Malfoy was cutting up Valerian roots as fast as he could.

Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing. It was virtually impossible to keep your work private; this was both an advantage and a disadvantage in Potions. Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Hermione, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest. Her potion already resembled the "smooth, black currant-colored liquid" mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.

Having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under the mess of scribbles from the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the sopophorous bean and had written in the alternative instruction:

_Crush with flat side of silver dagger, releases juice better than cutting._

The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up. Harry turned to Hermione.

"Can I borrow your silver knife?"

She nodded impatiently, not taking her eyes off her potion, which was still deep purple, though according to the book ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now.

Harry crushed his bean with the flat side of the dagger. To his surprise, it immediately exuded so much juice he was amazed the shriveled bean could have held it all.

He hastily added the juice into the cauldron and, to his further amazement, the potion immediately turned the precise shade of lilac described by the textbook.

His annoyance with the previous owner vanishing on the spot, Harry now squinted through the misty fumes at the next line of instructions. According the book, he had to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water. According to the annotation marked by the previous owner, however, he ought to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir. Could the old owner be right twice?

Harry stirred counterclockwise, held his breath, and stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate. The potion turned pale pink.

"How are you doing that?" demanded Hermione, whose face was red and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.

_Add a clockwise stir _—

"What are you doing? The book says counterclockwise!" she exclaimed.

Harry shrugged and continued what he was doing. Seven stirs counterclockwise, one clockwise, pause… seven stirs counterclockwise, one stir clockwise…

Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion had turned as pale as his. He felt elated, something that had certainly never happened before in this dungeon.

"And… time's up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"

Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. At last he reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's violet concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. When he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.

"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, was Lily! Here you are, then, here you are — one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"

Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.

"How did you do that?" he whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.

"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry, because Malfoy was within earshot.

Once they were securely ensconced at the Gryffindor table for dinner, however, he felt safe enough to tell them. Hermione's face became stonier with every word he uttered.

"I s'pose you think I cheated?" he finished, aggravated by her expression.

"Well, it wasn't exactly your own work, was it?" she said stiffly.

"He only followed different instructions to ours," said Ron, "Could've been a catastrophe, couldn't it? But he took a risk and it paid off." He heaved a sigh. "Slughorn could've handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one's ever written on. Puked on, by the look of page twenty-three, but —"

"Hang on," said a voice close by Harry's left ear and he caught a sudden waft of that flowery smell he had picked up in Slughorn's dungeon. He looked around and saw that Ginny had joined them. "Did I hear right? You've been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?"

She looked alarmed and angry. Harry knew what was on her mind at once.

"It's nothing," he said reassuringly, lowering his voice. "It's nothing like Riddle's diary. It's just an old textbook someone's scribbled on."

"But you're doing what it says?" she persisted adamantly.

"I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, honestly, Ginny, there's nothing funny."

"Hmm, maybe we ought to check just in case," said Hermione, "to be on the safe side."

"Hey!" said Harry indignantly, as she pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and raised her wand. "Specialis Revelio!" she said, rapping it smartly on the front cover. Nothing whatsoever happened. The book simply lay there, looking old and shabby.

"Finished?" said Harry irritably. "Or do you want to wait and see if it does a few back-flips?"

"It seems all right. I mean, it really does seem to be… just a textbook," said Hermione. "Even if it is a textbook filled with someone else's work," she added with an edge to her voice.

"Good. Then I'll have it back," said Harry, snatching it off the table and stuffing back into his book bag.

The rest of dinner passed without incidence aside from Harry and Hermione interacting more distantly than usual. However Ginny, to Harry's satisfaction, settled down after her initial reaction and seemed to have forgiven him. But as the dynamic between him and Hermione persisted, their area of the table became notably reticent. An increasingly uncomfortable Ron attempted to lighten the mood with his levity, which seemed to help a bit. That was, until Lavender decided to congratulate Ron on securing the Keeper position on the team, which she said, she'd known he would've all along. Ron nodded and smiled and said a feeble thank you, and Harry had to stop Ron from overflowing his goblet with pumpkin juice. Hermione was still a bit sour with both of them when they returned to the common room, and so didn't say anything when Harry and Ron left for the Quidditch pitch. When they returned to the common room, Harry decided to get an early start on his homework to appease Hermione, who already had quite a bit to be done. But when she decided to retire for the evening and bade him good night, she did so rather stiffly. He didn't get very far on his homework.

. *** .

One night at dinner, Harry noticed Dumbledore missing from his seat at the front table in the Great Hall. "Wonder where Dumbledore is," pondered Harry.

"I don't know," answered Hermione, "but I've heard he's left the school more than once."

This news surprised Harry, he hadn't heard anything of the sort, but he supposed he also saw him more than most students with their private lessons, so his absence wasn't as noticeable to him. "Where's he off to? I wonder what he's doing," said Ron.

"I think it has something to do with the Order. I mean, all of these deaths," she said, lifting up the evening news to solidify her point, "It's all looking very serious, isn't it?" It certainly was. Just the other day Hannah Abbott was pulled out of Herbology to learn that her grandmother had been found dead. None of them had seen her since then.

Contemplating Dumbledore's mysterious disappearances, and with a heavy heart, Harry made his way down towards Snape's office for his weekly Occlumency session.

"Pathetic, Potter," Snape voiced after several failed attempts, "Focus. You have made a marked improvement in emptying your consciousness of all thought and emotion, but you have yet to successfully barricade the invader from being privy to your innermost thoughts. You must force me out, _you_ must control the environment within your mind — do not allow me to do so."

Harry tried not to get frustrated, as that would prove to be counterproductive. _Okay, calm your mind_. He took a deep breath and tried to let go of all emotion.

"Again," said Snape. "One, two, three… _Legilimens!_"

There were no memories, only darkness, but soon he felt another presence pressing against his own, fighting for access. Harry struggled to hold up his defenses, but soon, he couldn't hold on any longer and the memories started flooding in… _Writing with his own blood as his hand was carved with the words 'I must not tell lies" over and over again… His uncle locking him into his cupboard when Harry failed, yet again, to explain the strange things that seemed to be happening around him… Sirius falling through the veil as if in slow motion, his face frozen in shock _—

"NO!"

And then, quite suddenly, the foreign presence was gone. "Again, too late," reprimanded Snape.

"I know," snapped Harry, losing his patience.

"If you know, then why don't you do it?"

"You aren't telling me how!"

Snape's eyes glinted dangerously. "That's enough of your cheek, Potter. I agreed to instruct you under the conditions that you would give me your utmost cooperation."

Harry sighed, trying to calm himself down. But Snape didn't seem to understand that having someone invade your mind repeatedly and force you to relive your least favorite memories tended to put you on edge. "Fine. What do you suggest I do, sir?" he asked more politely.

Snape stilled glared at him but said, "I have noticed you learn best visually. But what visuals to use…" He seemed to ponder for a moment. "I would like you to picture something in which to 'hide' your memories as it were — that cloak of yours," he said with some contempt, "perhaps that would serve as an adequate image to give you the creative impetus to, at long last, effectuate your basic training in Occlumency."

Harry noticed that Snape laced the particular words, 'at long last,' with biting sarcasm. But he ignored that; in fact, he himself was quite ready to be done with these lessons. He pictured the cloak in his head.

"Okay, I'll try that."

"Then prepare yourself. Take a moment to conjure the image in your mind."

Harry thought of his cloak and the safety it brought him from prying eyes the many times he had had to make use of it — the silvery silky fabric that was cool to the touch.

"One, two, three… _Legilimens!_"

Harry fought to 'hide' his memories from Snape. _I am hidden_, Harry thought. _My thoughts are invisible. There is nothing for Snape to see_…

_He was running through a dark maze, encountering the Sphinx… Snape had his arm in a vise-like grip. He had just seen his father commit terrible acts of victimization; he hurtled out of the dungeon room as a jar of cockroaches shattered above his head, but he kept running… Mr. Weasley was struck, again, and again, and again — his face was running with blood… Voldemort was rising out of the mist; his sickly, skeletal body shone like alabaster in the dim moonlight. Two crimson eyes gleamed as they opened, staring at him, as if they could see right through him…_

Harry gasped and was brought back to reality. He wasn't sure if he had ousted Snape from his mind or of Snape had simply stopped the spell. It seemed that Snape was having a very hard time of not barring his teeth at Harry. "That's it, Potter?"

"I'm sorry, I tried doing what you said," he replied in equal frustration and a little anxiety. Was he _ever_ going to learn Occlumency?

Whether Snape was annoyed with Harry's apology, or perhaps he had read Harry's thoughts, Harry wasn't sure.

"It was… better, but not much. Let's try again."

Harry nodded and readied himself for the next offensive.

"Brace yourself — _Legilimens_!"

Again, he fought against Snape, battling to keep him from entering his mind. He thought he kept him out longer this time…

_Quirrell was unraveling his turban, revealing the monstrosity hidden within its folds… A werewolf was biting and clawing at a large black dog, whose hair was matted with blood and grime… Bellatrix was taunting him, about how she killed Sirius and Harry's failed attempt at performing the Cruciatus curse; and then Voldemort materialized, out of thin air it seemed… Ginny was lying motionless on the chamber floor, he thought she might be dead… He was lying on the rock bed of the lake's bank as a dementor drew ever closer. Two rotting hands pulled back its hood to reveal the grey scabbed skin and the gaping, sucking hole as the dementor lowered its head to his own. He heard a woman's panicked voice, 'Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!' and then another, cruel and cold voice, 'Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside now.' Again, the woman's voice, 'Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead — Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…' A shrill, inhuman laughter sounded above the woman's voice. The woman screamed…_

This time, Harry could tell that Snape pulled out of his mind. There was no way Harry would have been able to expel his professor with him that deep into his mind. Harry was shaking; that last series of memories had been more grueling and emotionally draining than the previous ones. It had been like facing the dementor again. He looked up to notice that Snape was gripping the corner of the desk behind him tightly; his jaw was clenched and he looked very pale. His stark white skin was taut across his forehead where the skin looked a little clammy. This surprised Harry, for he had seen as bad as or worse than this in his visions. That one particular vision only affected him so because it was his mother. Maybe Snape had to exert more energy this time to breach his mind. Maybe he was beginning to improve, Harry thought hopefully.

"That will do for tonight," Snape finally said.

"But — I still haven't got it down," responded Harry in some consternation. "Shouldn't I give it another go?" Snape almost never cut down these sessions this short.

"You showed some improvement; however, that improvement was decidedly minimal. You will need to make larger strides if you are to fully learn this discipline — at least to the extent of warding the Dark Lord from your mind. But we shall go no further tonight. Your mind is vulnerable and you will not be able to accomplish anything of sufficient value in your current state. Rest, and empty your mind before you sleep — as you should be doing routinely by now."

Harry nodded and turned to leave. He was disheartened with this lesson, primarily because Snape's new idea hadn't worked, and he took only small comfort in the fact that he did not have any disturbing visions or dreams that night.

. *** .

September morphed into October, bringing with it rain and cooler temperatures. The last vestiges of summer that could sometimes be found in September had all but disappeared. As October was neared its end, the castle become colder and the wet weather they had been experiencing during the month was now mixing in with strong winds. All of the autumn leaves had fallen from their branches. Harry continued to excel in Potions, one of his new favorite classes. He was doing fairly well in his other classes, and Harry was glad Snape couldn't find much to criticize him for in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry still thought Lupin was a better teacher in terms of being helpful to students, and even pseudo-Moody to some extent, but Snape tended to focus on combating spells rather than dark creatures, and clearly knew a lot about defending oneself from Dark magic (well, he would, Harry knew he had an extensive knowledge about the Dark arts itself), and a lot of magic Harry thought would be useful to know in these times. And Harry had to admit that his lectures were some of the most informative, but then again, Snape had a way of making you hang onto his every word. He was certainly much better than Umbridge. Defense had always been Harry's favorite class, and he still liked the content more than any other class. But he still didn't approve of how Snape would insult the students at times, like Neville, and the atmosphere was never very positive. Still, Harry could see why Snape had yearned for this position. He was much more passionate about this subject than Potions, and it could be infectious at times. Harry would find himself very involved during class time. So the trip to Snape's class was no longer filled with the absolute dread Harry used to feel.

Naturally, on this torrential weekend, Harry chose to spend it outdoors. As rain continued to assault the motley crew, Harry wouldn't let it deter the enthusiasm of his team. Their first match would take place in two weeks' time. He vented his frustrations stemming from his lack of progress in Occlumency into these sessions, often, he knew, pushing his team to the limit. He was sure that Fred and George would've complained he was trying to epitomize Oliver had they been here. But this first game would be crucial to their aspirations of winning the Quidditch Cup. Not only because there were only three matches, but it would work wonders in the confidence of his relatively green team. And as captain, he was more nervous for the outcome this time around.

The team wasn't progressing as fast as Harry would've liked, and Seamus was clearly having trouble keeping up with Ginny and Katie. Seamus was starting to become discouraged, but Harry happened to chance upon seeing him and Nick Crosby practicing after one particularly bad session for him in the raging storm. He was starting to have doubts about his decision, and hoped it was one he wouldn't regret. But he had to tell himself to be patient. It would take Seamus a while before all of his hard work would bring any results.

Even worse, Ron seemed to have regressed; Harry's theory was that he felt he had a lot to prove after, admittedly, somewhat controversially beating out McLaggen for the Keeper's spot. Sometimes he would flail his arms wildly, only to watch the Quaffle sail right between them. Harry had hoped Ron had gotten over his psychiatric issues with his performance to win the Quidditch Cup last year; but to Harry's dismay, his confidence hadn't seemed to improve at all.

Katie was performing well as Harry expected, and Jimmy Peakes looked rather impressive during practices while Coote wasn't doing badly either. But his only real source of pride was witnessing Ginny's improvement from each practice. Every time she stepped out onto the pitch, she became a more dangerous scoring threat. She was getting better all of the time, and it became obvious that she would overtake Katie as the top Chaser at some point in the season. She was gaining confidence, too, sometimes testing out more unorthodox techniques. Harry only wished that the same thing could be said about her brother.

He appreciated the fact that none of the members of the team complained about his keeping them outside in this miserable weather. But he was sure many of them did behind his back much as he knew some of the players (mostly Fred and George) did when Oliver Wood was the captain and his ardor went over the top. He didn't mind that, as long as they didn't take their focus away from the task at hand.

"Alright, that's great everybody!" yelled Harry over the gusts of wind, trying to encourage his team. It was easy to let down a bit when you were freezing to the bone, he himself was thinking longingly of the warm, crackling fire in what was sure to be a cozy common room, but he wasn't ready to relinquish the cup this year. He was banned from the sport last year, and didn't get to experience the thrill of winning the championship. "Hey Jimmy, notice how Coote puts some backspin on the Bludger because of the wind? Try doing that, and maybe you'll get more accuracy that way," he shouted. He saw Jimmy nod from across the field. He was a robust player, but Coote had the technical advantage.

"Seamus! When you go for goal, make sure you know where the other two are positioned." Part of this was because he could make a blind drop pass if he had to, but more importantly, if he didn't score, he needed to be in position for the counter-attack. All too often Harry saw Chasers get too excited to score, only to be scored on moments later because the player wasn't back on defense. Scoring was important, but he believed defense awareness was just as important as offensive awareness, if not more so. Mistakes on defense tended to dictate the score. But hopefully, Harry thought, he had a good enough team that they would retain possession for the majority of the game. The other team couldn't score if they didn't have the ball. And with Ron playing the way he was, the Chasers could have more of an impact. More importantly, it wouldn't do anything for Ron's confidence level if they were behind significantly before the snitch was caught. "And when you fill the lane on a fast-break, make sure you don't occupy the same space as the other trailer. It's easier for them to defend you that way. Force them to make a decision, and it might lead to a mistake on their part."

After close to another hour, Jimmy had almost gotten the hang of his technique, he would learn how to adjust to different conditions as he got more experience. Seamus improved, sometimes remembering Harry's advice, and at other times forgetting it. But as practice progressed he had to be reminded less and less, and he would only build habits with time and practice, then it would become second nature. Unfortunately, Ron got steadily worse as time wore on. But Harry didn't have any particular advice for him. What could he say, "Hey Ron, get over your anxiety and you'll be fine," or "find some mental toughness?" He told him to relax his posture a bit, but he didn't want to humiliate Ron in front of the others, he didn't always take to criticism well, and he let it discourage him. The others' problems were largely technical or tactical. Ron's problem was his execution, stopped by whatever mental block he had.

He decided they had had enough for time being, and called it a day. Only Katie, who had been through many exercises worse than this before, and surprisingly Coote were able to keep the relief from showing on their faces. Even Ginny seemed slightly relieved when Harry made the call to halt for the day. But none were more relieved than Ron.

Harry was developing a burgeoning respect for Coote, and unlike his other two difficult choices, he was felt no misgivings with this selection. He was easily the skinniest person on the team, but perhaps the toughest, both physically and mentally. He wasn't afraid to get physical despite his smaller physique, and he was extremely coachable despite being a seventh year, always accepting constructive criticism without objection. Harry noticed that you really only had to tell him something once, and you wouldn't have to tell him again. Coote possessed a soldier's mentality, doing whatever he could to help the team, and doing his job with a quiet, yet dedicated manner. His steadfast concentration and stoic demeanor seemed to have a stabilizing effect on the team, prompting them to remember if they were starting to become inattentive. It was good to have that sort of presence at practices where it was easy to slack off. And this way Harry didn't have to feel like he constantly had to be the disciplinarian. If it weren't for Fred and George, Harry had a hard time believing that Coote wouldn't have had a long career at Hogwarts. Strategy and efficiency were his strong points, whereas Peakes employed a more intuitive, improvisational approach. It could prove to be a deadly combination.

Water-sodden and weary, the group made their way back to the Gryffindor common room. There was no use in changing; their new robes would just become as soaked and muddied as their current attire. They trudged up to the castle, and Harry noted with some satisfaction that his team (aside from Ron) looked to be more encouraged despite the hard session. He made sure to communicate to them he was seeing a lot of improvement, and reminded them that they must continue to put forth this effort because there was still a lot of room for more improvement if they wanted to have a good chance at recapturing the title for Gryffindor, but that he also thought they were well on their way. However he noticed Jimmy looked suddenly anxious, and saw it was reflected in a few other faces as well. Looking up, he realized with a start that even though practice was going better, it couldn't erase the displeasure of chancing across a most unhappy Argus Filch.

. *** .

The wet and gloomy weather outside reflected the dejection Hermione was feeling inside.

Tuesday found Hermione in detention. Today found the offenders stocking ingredients by recording their quantities and properly labeling and storing them, which Hermione found much more tedious than grading papers. Everything was going much as it had for the past couple of weeks. That was, until Snape decided to disappear from his office. Once he was absent from the room, Malfoy immediately began to badger her.

"For once in your life, can you stop being such a prude? Why do you always have to show everyone up, does it give you a sense of accomplishment? Well, let me give you a rare bit of advice: Stop it. It just irritates the hell out of everyone. You have nothing — no name, no honor, no dignity — nothing to hold up. No matter what you do, you'll still be a Mudblood."

"What is it? What have I ever done to you?" answered Hermione, whose voice was rising with anger. "I can answer that for you: Nothing… nothing. I've done absolutely nothing and yet you insist to do whatever you can to belittle me." She had burned to ask him these questions after all these years, but had refrained from doing so because she had thought that the idea that Malfoy would actually listen was utterly ridiculous. Laugh at her and continue his taunting insinuations, more likely.

"Oh yeah, that's right. I'm a _Mudblood_!" she continued. "You have no reason to even pay any attention to me, but you feel the need to strut your supposed superiority over me for no other reason than my parentage. You're right, I may not have a name to uphold; no, instead I must _create_ a name for myself. People that hold the same principles as you force me to work harder to earn respect. But do you really believe that you're better than me just because you're Pureblood? Do you really think that all Muggle-borns are worthless and subhuman?"

She hadn't really been expecting an answer. It was more to vent all of her suppressed rage and confusion than anything else. But he looked hesitant, as if he wasn't sure whether or not he was going to respond. Hermione was surprised he even had a response to that particular query. Didn't he just think she was a good-for-nothing Mudblood after all? That was all he had been pushing since day one.

"Muggle-borns are simply of lower class. Our blood is of magical lineage. Yours is not. Purebloods can date their ancestry back to witches and wizards, and because of that we are entitled to the privileges we have earned. We have upheld our family names and contributed to the world of magic for centuries. What has your family done for Wizarding society? Purebloods have a noted history of doing just that."

"Yes, because it is Purebloods who created this caste system in the first place! It was created solely to serve your own needs, nothing more. It was just an excuse to justify the dehumanization of others." Hermione was in full lecture mode now. "The Pureblood society felt threatened by Muggle-born wizards and witches who were as strong or stronger magically. When you could no longer claim superior capabilities, you turned to blood: the one thing we could not change. And those who supported this Pureblood ideology spread and propagandized this ludicrous dogma. You feared we would capture positions of power that you once held by gaining respect that was easily attainable before Muggle-borns expanded the competitive pool. If what you believe is true, then how am I — a Muggle-born — able to be the top student in a school of magic? Face it, your beliefs have remained stagnant while everyone else has progressed and matured. Your ideals are primitive and outdated. The rest of Wizarding society has evolved to become more enlightened. Times have changed. The pureblood creed only proves your narrow-mindedness and inability to adapt to change. This ideology was merely a reaction to this change that was powered by the support of people who were afraid of change. People like you continue to delude themselves into believing that this inane drivel contains any grain of truth — even as evidence points to the contrary — because you are afraid of losing what you think makes you special." She was breathing heavily once she had ended her tirade, telling Malfoy more than she planned on.

"But not all change is good change," Malfoy countered. "Any of the great empires that fell never re-emerged. You know why? Because they gave in. They surrendered and submitted to the opposing movement. To disown this creed is to abandon your loyalty and commit the worst betrayal on your family. We purebloods fight for what we believe and resist that change. Our pride cannot be broken if we don't allow it to be. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Hermione was surprised both herself and Malfoy by saying, "In fact, I do". It was true, she identified with what Malfoy, _Malfoy_ was saying. "It's what I'm doing right now," she continued to explain. "The darkness is gathering all around us, but my friends and I will never give in to the dark side, no matter what. We will strive to do anything to oppose this power, and we would rather die than admit defeat. We would give our lives to defend everything we believe in and the people we care about."

Now, Malfoy looked more confused than ever. He seemed to be shocked into silence at her words. Why, Hermione didn't know.

After a while he asked, "And what do you defend, exactly? It's the same thing you just described about Purebloods. How can you say what you do is any different? You don't want to lose your power. That's what it all comes down to, in the end."

"No, it doesn't," replied Hermione, slightly alarmed with his claim. "It's not about power, it's about defending those who have turned their back on the dark side and those who refuse to bow down to these extremists. It's about protecting the innocent and protecting the right to live our lives without the cloud of fear hanging over us. It's fighting for all of those who are discriminated against and powerless to stop it. It's about fighting the idea that people can do whatever they want, eliminate whomever they desire, just because they can. It's about fighting against the darkest wizard of our time and rejecting his ideals. It's about fighting for what's right. Fighting Voldemort." Malfoy tensed slightly at the mention of his name. Hermione didn't let this go unnoticed. "Yes, _Voldemort_. He's largely responsible for championing this pureblood creed; and not just the prejudices against Muggles, but other magical creatures as well. But he is the one you believe is right. So why is it that I am able to utter his name, while the mere mention of him leaves his 'allies' flinching in fear?"

"You say it out of ignorance, you have no idea what he's capable of!" he argued with fervor. "You haven't met him," he added quietly.

Hermione's eyes widened with potential revelation, "Have _you_ met him?" she asked tentatively, thinking back on what Harry had told her earlier.

He turned his head sharply to stare at her, then looked down, seeming to be suddenly interested in the wood grain in his desk. "It's not me who should be worried. It's you. He will destroy you all. He will purge all of the Mudbloods from this country."

Hermione noted that he hadn't answered her question, and now glared back at the boy she despised her entire life at Hogwarts. "Yes, you would like that wouldn't you? I guess I shouldn't have expected anything less from you. You have hated me from the moment you learned I was Muggle-born. You are blinded by your bigotry and have never judged me fairly. You formed your opinion of me before you even got to know me."

Malfoy opened and closed his mouth. Then he breathed out a huff of mirthless laughter. "I can understand why you think all of those things, Granger. But how can you criticize me for doing exactly what you do yourself?"

Hermione blinked in confusion. "_Me?_" she shouted, angry and incredulous. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?" she demanded.

"You really don't know, Granger?" he asked incredulously contemptuous. Hermione wasn't sure if he was being serious or not, but he was really starting to irritate her. Not that he didn't annoy her otherwise, but insults to her hard-earned intelligence were not something she took well to. Worse, she was positive Malfoy knew this, which was most likely why he was doing it now.

"You think you're so saintly. You think it's terrible that I think I'm so much better than you, but you think I'm scum, too. So what really makes you better than me, Granger?" he asked fixedly.

Hermione scoffed in indignation. "Well, I don't base my opinions on someone purely because of their blood status for one," quipped Hermione, wondering where this conversation could possibly lead.

"Oh, but you do base it on something, don't you."

"And what, pray tell is that? Maybe someone's character?"

Malfoy scoffed, "Yeah, because _you_ really got to know _me_ well before you formed your opinion of me."

Hermione was perplexed. "Are you kidding me?" Now it was her turn to laugh. "Like you really gave me a chance to _know _you. All you've done since I've known you is insult and disparage me. That's all you've done for the six years I've known you. How can you accuse _me_ of being judgmental? If you weren't such a complete _arse_, I'm certain I would think more of you. And don't you accuse _me_ of being the hypocrite; you formed your opinion about me, too, didn't you?" replied Hermione, not expecting an answer.

"Did I?"

Now she was really confused, and getting frustrated, too. "What is that supposed to mean?" Didn't he hate her? What was she thinking? Of course he did! This was all just some kind of ploy to aggravate her. And apparently it was working.

He didn't answer this time, but she pressed him. "Enough with the cryptic answers," she snapped. "Aren't you always the one calling me a Mudblood and God knows whatever else?" [4]. She was sure this would remain a rhetorical question and close the discussion for good. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

"And why would I do that?"

"Is it possible for you not to answer everything with another question?" she snapped back. Hermione was now visibly upset. Malfoy gave her an evil smirk. "I don't know, is it?" She looked upwards, as if beseeching all of the gods above to give her enough patience not to curse him, or possibly strike him like she did in their third year.

"You still haven't answered _my_ question," stated Malfoy.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why would you say any of those terrible things unless you believed them?"

Malfoy raised his eyebrow to mirror her image only seconds ago. "You really don't get it do you? What's the matter, Granger, I thought you were supposed to be smart." Another insult to her intellect; she was keeping count. He continued, "Remember what I was born to. What House I belong to, and what my world is like. Unlike yours, it's not just full of rainbows and sunshine."

What was he saying? That this was forced upon him and his malice and cruelty was all just a façade? No, he truly believed he was better than her because of his blood; she had heard very real and true hatred dripping in his voice when he insulted her and her friends.

"As much as you want to hate me for judging you, you do the same thing, Granger. And the difference is, you're the one who doesn't realize it." He paused. Everything was dead silent. "Think about it. If I had ever allowed myself to be accepting of you or," he snorted, "Weasley, just think about what that would do for me."

"So you're telling me that you're afraid of what your family and so-called friends would think? That's just as bad."

"I never said I was afraid of anything," he snapped back furiously, beginning to get defensive.

Hermione opened her mouth to come back with another retort, but Professor Snape had entered the room. She snapped it shut in an instant.

. *** .

Now that things had finally settled down in Defense class (or Hermione and Malfoy seemed to reach a sort of truce inside the classroom), Snape was finally able to really begin his lessons having only gone over review so far, citing 'inadequacies' of past classes.

He strode into the classroom, imposing his menacing personality upon the room as ever; silence fell over the queue immediately.

"Now that we have finished with the inane, but admittedly necessary review material, we shall be discussing the nature of this class and what you should expect to accomplish if you put forth your best effort into this class and use the correct intellect to guide you. This is no mere academic exercise; what you learn in here will be used to help you once you are no longer within the confines of this school." This raised Harry's attention, and noted interestedly that Snape was not speaking of the particulars as was the norm. Snape set off around the edge of the room, speaking now in a lower voice; the class craned their necks to keep him in view. "The Dark Arts," said Snape, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than that which it displaced. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible…"

Harry stared at Snape. It was one thing to respect the Dark Arts as a formidable opponent, and quite another to speak of them, as Snape was doing, with something akin to devout reverence.

"Your defenses," said Snape, a little louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo… Now…" He set off again around the other side of the classroom toward his desk, and again, they watched him as he walked, his dark robes billowing behind him. "You are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. Can anyone tell me the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape looked around the room before saying curtly, "Very well — Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," said Hermione, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six_," said Snape dismissively, "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress in using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power." Snape didn't look directly at him, but Harry couldn't help but think this statement could refer to his ineffective attempts to learn the art of Occlumency.

"You will now divide," Snape went on, "into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

Although Snape did not know it, Harry had taught at least half the class (everyone who had been a member of the D.A.) how to perform a Shield Charm the previous year. However, none of them had ever cast the charm without speaking. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued; many people were merely whispering the incantation out of the side of their mouths instead of saying it aloud. In typical fashion, Hermione managed to repel Neville's muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without uttering a single word ten minutes into the session; a feat which would have surely earned her points for Gryffindor from any reasonable teacher, thought Harry, but which Snape ignored. Although Malfoy seemed also to have the hang of nonverbal spells, and Snape rewarded him no points either. Perhaps he was still angry with them for fighting in class. He swept between them as they practiced, lingering to watch as Harry and Ron struggled to fulfill the task assigned to them.

Ron, whose face was now as red as his hair, was supposed to be jinxing Harry. His lips were tightly compressed as if to save himself from the temptation of muttering the incantation. Harry had his wand raised, waiting on tenterhooks to repel a jinx that seemed unlikely to ever come.

"Pitiful, Weasley, unless the purpose of your spell is to transform yourself into a human representation of a tomato," Snape said after a while. The Slytherins sniggered and Ron went bright red around the ears. "But my instructions clearly dictated that you perform an offensive spell, not a transfigurative one," he continued. "Miss Granger, if you would kindly show your friend how to properly perform a simple nonverbal spell… Potter, you will assist her, so that your ineffectual friend can properly observe."

Of course, now Harry could fail in front of the whole class. Well, perhaps Snape might be in for a little surprise. Harry prepared himself for the spell and imagined speaking the incantation in his head, but to no avail when he fell to his knees as he felt as if there was some invisible rope that had tripped him. "Tsk, tsk, is that all, Potter?" This time, Snape didn't punish Malfoy as he made a snide remark and his Slytherin gang snickered quietly.

Harry grit his teeth, "I want to try again." Snape raised his eyebrow in Snape-like fashion and silently indicated that Hermione do as Harry requested.

For some inexplicable reason, Harry strongly wished to prove his worth in Snape's class. He never really had an opportunity in potions. But defense was his element. This time he focused less on the word, and more on what he wanted to accomplish. He pictured the protective, transparent blue barrier in his mind and blocking the spell. _Protego!_ he shouted in his mind when he saw Hermione flick her wand. This time, he noticed a difference. He was pushed back and took a step back to regain his balance, but somehow he knew most of the spell was blocked; it was like Hermione's spell was weakened. She must have noticed it too, for she was beaming exuberantly at Harry.

Snape stood silent for a second before announcing to the class, "As you have just witnessed, Potter has just managed to deter the greater portion of the power in Miss Granger's spell. Therefore, there is no reason the rest of you cannot accomplish this same feat." Of course, even when he did something right for a change in Snape's class, the uneasily impressed professor could still find a way to make it sound disparaging. But at least he had been able to use the nonverbal spell with some degree of success. As far as he knew, only he, Hermione and Malfoy had done anything past standing-tightlipped looking rather like someone with a bad case of constipation, or Harry thought, perhaps someone who invested in Fred and George's new product, U-No-Poo. He thought if he had one more go he would have gotten it down completely, but class ended before he could try. That wasn't to say he wanted class to go on… Because that would just be, as Ron put it, Hermione-crazy. Of course he didn't…

"I thought that lesson went well. I mean, it was very informative and quite engaging — especially in comparison to last year with that awful woman," Hermione observed. Ron grunted, it was clear he was still smarting from Snape's insult. What Snape did was unnecessary, but Harry rather thought that Ron was more disgruntled that Hermione would ever describe a class where such things were allowed as 'engaging'. "And you did very well, Harry," she continued. "No one else besides Malfoy was able to perform nonverbal magic. Granted, you didn't block the entire spell, but you were very close. I gather you'll be able to do it by next class!"

It seemed Hermione was more excited about this development than he was. Of course, he was happy he was able to do _something_. Snape must have thought he was pretty useless up until now, and Harry had done nothing in their Occlumency sessions to help change that opinion.

Ron grunted unhappily. "Oh, Ron, Snape says terrible things to everyone," said Hermione. "Don't pay him any mind. You'll do better next time." When Ron's mood didn't seem to improve, Harry had a suspicion he was more upset with all of the attention Hermione was giving Harry. _If he's so upset about it, why doesn't he just ask her out already?_ He was not going to feel guilty about outperforming his friend in class.

"What did you think about the class?" asked Hermione, still animated.

"I thought it was pretty good," Harry admitted truthfully, "but I don't know about all of that stuff he was saying about the Dark Arts. You know, all of that about it being unfixed and indestructible… almost like he appreciated them."

"Actually…" said Hermione, "I thought he sounded a bit like you."

"Me?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, when you were telling us what it's like to face Voldemort… You said it wasn't just memorizing a bunch of spells. You said it was just you and your brains and your guts — and well — wasn't that what Snape was really saying? That it in the end, it all really comes down to your composure, your nerve, and your intuition?"

Harry was so disarmed that she had thought his words were as well worth memorizing as _The Standard Book of Spells_, he did not argue.

. *** .

The day before the Halloween feast, Dumbledore had sent Harry a note informing him of their next lesson. Looking up at the clock, he figured he would eat quickly and head over. But before he could make it to the table, he, Ron and Hermione were accosted by Slughorn. He interceded the trio, blocking their path.

"Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!" he boomed genially, "I was hoping to catch you! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin — I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries — and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favor me by coming too." Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at him.

"I'm sorry, Professor," answered Harry. "I have a — er — an appointment with Professor Dumbledore this evening."

"Unlucky again!" cried Slughorn dramatically. "Ah, well… you can't evade me forever, Harry!" he said, wriggling his finger in mock rebuke. "And you Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked rather alarmed. "Oh… Yes — of course!" Harry could tell she wanted to be polite. "Um, hold on, let me gather my things."

"Of course, but of course," Slughorn said affably, "take your time. We'll just be in my office, dear."

"Oh, alright."

"See you there," said Slughorn ceremoniously.

"Yes, sir." She waited until he was out of sight. "Oh, Harry, I wish you could come. I really don't want to go on my own," she fretted. Ron merely looked a little sullen. Cleary, he didn't much appreciate being treated like a piece of furniture by Slughorn. Harry ate his dinner even faster because Ron was in a sour mood and Hermione was gone. Afterwards, Harry took the familiar path that led the Headmaster's office. Since their last lesson, Dumbledore's disappearances had become much more noticeable. Many of the students would whisper amongst themselves and speculate where he was going. Some were afraid that without him all of the time, Hogwarts wasn't as safe as it was traditionally renowned to disembarking off the moving stairwell, he found the lamps in Dumbledore's office were lit, the portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses were snoring gently in their frames, and the Pensieve ready upon the desk once more.

"Good evening, Harry. Everything is well, I trust?"

"Yes, sir." He was curious to know where Dumbledore had been, but didn't want to pester him, so he refrained from asking. It wasn't his business after all and if Dumbledore wanted Harry to know, then he would tell him.

"Excellent. We meet this evening to continue the tale of Tom Riddle, whom we left last lesson poised on the threshold of his years at Hogwarts."

"The start of the school year arrived and with it came Tom Riddle, a quiet boy wearing secondhand robes, who lined up with the other first years to be sorted. He was placed in Slytherin House almost the moment that the Sorting Hat touched his head," continued Dumbledore, waving his hand toward the shelf where rested the Sorting Hat. Harry thought back to when Malfoy was sorted. "How soon Riddle learned that the famous founder of his House could talk to snakes, I do not know — perhaps that very evening. The knowledge can only have excited him and increased his sense of self-importance.

"However, if he was frightening or impressing fellow Slytherins with displays of Parseltongue in their common room, no hint of it reached the staff. He showed no sign of outward arrogance or aggression at all. As an unusually talented and very good-looking orphan, he naturally drew attention and sympathy from the staff almost from the moment of his arrival. He seemed police, quiet, and thirsty for knowledge. Nearly all were most favorably impressed by him."

"Didn't you tell them, sir, what he'd been like when you met him at the orphanage?" asked Harry.

"No, I did not. Though he had shown no hint of remorse, it was possible that he felt sorry for how he had behaved before and had resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. I chose to give him that chance." Dumbledore paused and looked inquiringly at Harry, who had opened his mouth to speak. Here, again, was Dumbledore's tendency to trust people in spite of overwhelming evidence that they did not deserve it. But then Harry remembered something… "But you didn't really trust him, sir, did you? He told me… the Riddle who came out of the diary said, 'Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the other teachers did.'"

"Let us say that I did not take it for granted that he was trustworthy," said Dumbledore. "I had, as I have already indicated, resolved to keep a close eye upon him, and so I did. I cannot pretend that I gleaned a great deal from my observations at first. He was very guarded with me; he felt, I am sure, that in the thrill of discovering his true identity he had told me a little too much. He was careful never to reveal as much again, but he could not take back what he had let slip in his excitement, nor what Mrs. Cole had confided in me. However, he had the sense never to try and charm me as he charmed so many of my colleagues.

"As he moved up the school, he gathered about him a group of dedicated friends; I call them that, for want of a better term, although as I have already indicated, Riddle undoubtedly felt no affection for any of them. This group had a kind of dark glamour within the castle. They were a motley collection; a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty. In other words, they were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and indeed some of them became the first Death Eaters upon leaving Hogwarts.

"Rigidly controlled by Riddle, they were never detected in open wrongdoing, although their seven years at Hogwarts were marked by a number of nasty incidents to which they were never satisfactorily linked, the most serious of which was, of course, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, which resulted in the death of a young girl. As you know, Hagrid was wrongly accused of that crime.

"I have two more memories to show you this evening, both obtained with enormous difficulty, and the second of them is, I think, the most important I have collected. I have not been able to find many memories of Riddle at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "Few who knew him then are prepared to talk about him; they are too terrified. What I know, I found out after he had left Hogwarts, after much painstaking effort, after tracing those few who could be tricked into speaking, after searching old records and questioning Muggle and magical witnesses alike.

"Those whom I could persuade to talk told me that Riddle was obsessed with his parentage. This is understandable, of course; he had grown up in an orphanage and naturally wished to know how he came to be there. It seems that he searched in vain for some trace of Tom Riddle senior on the shields in the trophy room, on the lists of prefects in the old school records, even in the books of Wizarding history. Finally he was forced to accept that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. I believe that it was then that he dropped the name forever, assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort, and began his investigations into his previously despised mother's family — the woman whom, you will remember, he had thought could not be a witch if she had succumbed to the shameful human weakness of death.

"All he had to go upon was the single name 'Marvolo,' which he knew from those who ran the orphanage had been his name of his mother's father. Finally, after painstaking research, through old books of Wizarding families, he discovered the existence of Slytherin's surviving line. In the summer of his sixteenth year, he left the orphanage to which he returned annually and set off to find his Gaunt relatives. And now, Harry, if you will stand…"

Dumbledore rose, and Harry saw that he was again holding a small crystal bottle filled with swirling, pearly memory.

"I was very lucky to collect this," he said, as he poured the gleaming mass into the Pensieve. "As you will understand when we have experienced it. Shall we?"

Harry stepped up to the stone basin and bowed obediently until his face sank through the surface of the memory; he felt the familiar sensation of falling through nothingness and then landed upon a dirty stone floor in almost total darkness.

It took him several seconds to recognize the place, by which time Dumbledore had landed beside him. The Gaunts' house was now more indescribably filthy than anywhere Harry had ever seen. The ceiling was thick with cobwebs, the floor coated in grime; moldy and rotting food lay upon the table amidst a mass of crusted pots. The only light came from a single guttering candle placed at the feet of a man with hair and beard so overgrown Harry could see neither eyes nor mouth. He was slumped in an armchair by the fire, and Harry wondered for a moment whether he was dead. But then there came a loud knock on the door and the man jerked awake, raising a wand in one hand and a short knife in the other.

The door creaked open. There on the threshold, holding an old-fashioned lamp, stood a boy Harry recognized at once: tall, pale, dark-haired, and handsome — the teenage Voldemort.

Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

"You!" he bellowed. "YOU!"

And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.

"Stop."

Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending moldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other.

"You speak it?" asked the man who Harry now knew to be Morfin.

"Yes, I speak it," said Riddle. He moved forward into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. Harry could not help but feel a resentful admiration for Voldemort's complete lack of fear. His face merely expressed disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.

"Where is Marvolo?" he asked.

"Dead," said Morfin. "Died years ago."

Riddle frowned.

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm Morfin."

"Marvolo's son?"

"That'd be right."

Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle, and Harry saw that he wore Marvolo's black-stoned ring on his right hand.

"I thought you was that Muggle," whispered Morfin. "You look mighty like that Muggle. But he's older'n you, now I think on it."

"What Muggle?" said Riddle sharply.

"That Muggle my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way," said Morfin, waving his arm in no particular direction, this movement caused him to sway a little. He stopped and resuming clutching the table for support. "He left her, see. And serve her right, fer marrying filth like that!" said Morfin, spitting on the floor. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "Dishonored us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit? It's over…" He looked away, staggering slightly, and Voldemort moved forward. As he did so, an unnatural darkness fell, extinguishing Voldemort's lamp and Morfin's candle, extinguishing everything…

Then Dumbledore grasped Harry's arm and they were soaring back into the present again. The soft golden light in Dumbledore's office seemed to dazzle Harry's eyes after that impenetrable darkness.

"Is that all?" said Harry at once. "Why did it go all dark, what happened?"

"Because Morfin could not remember anything from that point onward," said Dumbledore, gesturing Harry back into his seat. "When he awoke next morning, he was lying on the floor, quite alone. Marvolo's ring had gone.

"Meanwhile, in the village of Little Hangleton, a maid was running along the High Street, screaming that there were three bodies lying in the drawing room of the big house: Tom Riddle Senior and both of his parents.

"The Muggle authorities were perplexed. As far as I am aware, they do not know to this day the cause of the Riddles' deaths, for the Avada Kedavra curse does not usually leave any sign of damage… The exception sits before me," Dumbledore added, with a nod to Harry's scar. "The Ministry, on the other hand, knew at once that this was the work of a wizard. They also knew that a convicted Muggle-hater lived across the valley from the Riddle house, a Muggle-hater who had already been imprisoned once for attacking one of the murdered people.

"So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight.

"All that disturbed him was the fact that his father's ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it, he will' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

"So Voldemort stole Morfin's wand and used it to kill his father," said Harry, sitting up straight.

"Correct," said Dumbledore. "We have no memories to show us this, but I think we can be fairly certain as to what transpired. Voldemort Stupefied his uncle, took his wand, and proceeded across the valley to 'the big house over the way.' There he murdered the Muggle man who had abandoned his witch mother, and, for good measure, his Muggle grandparents, thus obliterating the last of the unworthy Riddle line and revenging himself upon the father who never wanted him. Then he returned to the Gaunt hovel, performed the complex bit of magic that would implant a false memory in his uncle's mind, laid Morfin's wand beside its unconscious owner, pocketed the ancient ring he wore, and departed."

"He must've done a good job. Morfin never realized he hadn't done it, did he?"

"No, indeed," said Dumbledore. "He gave, as I say, a full and boastful confession."

"Then how could he have this real memory in him all this time?"

"Ah, it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him," said Dumbledore, "and why should anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with great difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban. Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died."

"But wouldn't the Ministry realize what Voldemort had done?" asked Harry. "He was underage at the time, wasn't he? Wouldn't they've been able to detect the underage mag —" Harry halted mid-sentence, thinking about his encounter with Dobby and Hermione being able to create the flying room in Grimmauld Place. It had been an inconvenience with Dobby, but he had been grateful for Hermione's ability to perform magic unbeknownst to the Ministry. But now that he thought on it, he wasn't sure.

"I think you have, by the looks of it, answered your own question?"

"Yes," confirmed Harry.

"Yes, as your experience with Dobby would imply, the Improper Use of Magic office relies on witch and wizard parents to enforce their offspring's obedience while within their walls."

"Isn't that a bit… naïve? I mean, to think that people will enforce the rules just because they're told to?"

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, "I would not disagree with you there, Harry. I daresay this thought is derived from a little first-hand experience?"

Harry reddened slightly in embarrassment, but Dumbledore was smiling. Feeling that Dumbledore was not chastising him, he ventured to respond, albeit somewhat timorously, "I guess, I have broken a few rules." They both knew that to be quite an understatement.

"Indeed, you have," Dumbledore replied in kind.

"But it seems like the Ministry needs to take another look at how they do things," continued Harry. "This shouldn't happen. I know the answer seemed obvious, but when you're doing something like putting someone in Azkaban, you need to be sure. It happened to Hagrid, too!"

"I agree," said Dumbledore. "Whatever Morfin was, he did not deserve to die as he did, blamed for murders he had not committed. And now, Harry, I have one more memory I want you to see before we part."

Dumbledore took from an inside pocket another crystal phial and Harry fell silent at once, remembering that Dumbledore had said it was the most important one he had collected. Harry noticed that the contents proved difficult to empty into the Pensieve, as though they had congealed slightly; did memories go bad?

"This will not take long," said Dumbledore, when he had finally emptied the phial. "It is a bit lengthier than the first, but we shall be back before you know it. Once more into the Pensieve, then…"

And Harry fell again through the silver surface, landing this time right in front of a man he recognized at once.

It was a much younger Horace Slughorn. Harry was so used to him bald that he found the sight of Slughorn with thick, shiny, straw-colored hair quite disconcerting; it looked as though he had had his head thatched, though there was already a shiny Galleon-sized bald patch on his crown. His mustache, less massive than it was these days, was gingery-blond. He was not quite as rotund as the Slughorn Harry knew, though the golden buttons on his richly embroidered waistcoat were taking a fair amount of strain. His little feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, he was sitting in a comfortable winged armchair, one hand grasping a small glass of wine, the other searching through a box of crystallized pineapple [5].

Harry looked around as Dumbledore appeared beside him and saw that they were standing in Slughorn's office. Half a dozen teenage boys were sitting around Slughorn, on much less ornate seats, Harry noticed. He recognized Voldemort at once. He was easily the most handsome one present and visibly the most relaxed of all the boys. His right hand lay heedlessly upon the arm of his chair; with a jolt, Harry saw that he was wearing Marvolo's gold-and-black ring; he had already killed his father.

"Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?" he asked casually.

"Tom, Tom, if I knew, I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging a reproving, sugar-covered finger at Riddle, though ruining the effect slightly by winking. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way; you're quite right, it is my favorite."

As several of the boys tittered, something very odd happened. The whole room was suddenly filled with a thick white fog, so that Harry could see nothing but the face of Dumbledore, who was standing beside him. Then Slughorn's voice rang out through the mist, unnaturally loudly, "You'll go wrong, boy, mark my words. "

The fog cleared as suddenly as it had appeared and yet nobody made any allusion to it, nor did anybody look as though anything unusual had just happened. Bewildered, Harry looked around as a small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock.

"Good gracious, is it that time already?" said Slughorn. "You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."

Slughorn pulled himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk as the boys filed out. Voldemort, however, stayed behind. Harry could tell he had dawdled deliberately, wanting to be last in the room with Slughorn.

"Look sharp, Tom," said Slughorn, turning around and finding him still present. "You don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect…"

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away…"

"Sir, I was wondering if you know anything about… about Horcruxes?"

Then it happened all over again; the dense fog filled the room so that Harry could not see Slughorn or Voldemort at all; only Dumbledore, smiling serenely beside him. Then Slughorn's voice boomed out again, just as it had done before.

"I don't know anything about Horcruxes and I wouldn't tell you if I did! Now get out of here at once and don't let me catch you mentioning them again!"

"Well, that's that," said Dumbledore placidly beside Harry. "Time to go."

Harry's feet left the floor to land back onto the rug in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"What's wrong with the memory?" said Harry. "What's with all the fog and everything? I don't understand, it didn't make any sense." Dumbledore had said that this was the most important memory of all, but he had gleaned no important information out of it as far as he could tell.

"As you might have noticed," said Dumbledore, reseating himself behind his desk, "that memory has been tampered with."

"Tampered with?" repeated Harry, sitting back down too.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore. "Professor Slughorn has meddled with his own recollections."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because, I think, he is ashamed of what he remembers," said Dumbledore. "He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations."

"Does it have anything to do with 'Horcruxes?'" asked Harry.

Dumbledore looked pleased. "Yes, Harry. It has everything to do with Horcruxes."

"What are they, sir? Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

"That is for another lesson, I think," Dumbledore said elusively. "And so, for the first time, I am giving you homework, Harry. It will be your job to persuade Professor Slughorn to divulge the real memory, which will undoubtedly be our most crucial piece of information of all."

Harry stared at him. "But surely, sir," he said, keeping his voice as respectful as possible, "you don't need me — you could use Legilimency… or Veritaserum…"

"Professor Slughorn is an extremely able wizard who will be expecting both," said Dumbledore. "He is much more accomplished at Occlumency than poor Morfin Gaunt, and I would be astonished if he has not carried an antidote to Veritaserum with him ever since I coerced him into giving me this travesty of a recollection.

"No, I think it would be foolish to attempt to wrest the truth from Professor Slughorn by force, and might do much more harm than good; I do not wish him to leave Hogwarts. However, he has his weaknesses like the rest of us, and I believe that you are the one person who might be able to penetrate his defenses. It is most important that we secure the true memory, Harry… How important, we will only know when we have seen the real thing. And so with that, I will wish you a good night, and good luck."

A little taken aback by the abrupt dismissal, Harry got to his feet quickly. "Good night, sir."

As he closed the study door behind him, he distinctly heard Phineas Nigellus say, "I can't see why the boy should be able to do better than you, Dumbledore."

"I wouldn't expect you to, Phineas," replied Dumbledore, and Harry heard Fawkes gave another low, musical cry.

. *** .

Harry lay awake in his bed reading his Potions book, something he'd never imagined he'd end up doing. He was getting tired, but he wanted to keep studying the text-filled margins. His eyes closed shut a couple of times until finally he dozed off and the book slid to the floor with a thump. The noise awoke him and, his heart beating fast, he peered out of his curtains to make sure the sound hadn't wakened any of the others. When he was sure that everyone in the room was still fast asleep, he leaned over to pick up his book. As he did so, in the soft light of his wand, he saw something scribbled along the bottom of the back cover in the same small, cramped handwriting as the instructions that had won him his bottle of Felix Felicis, now safely hidden inside a pair of socks in his trunk at the foot of his bed.

_This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince._

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 11:

It's the first match of the season, and Harry fears Ron isn't ready. Ron makes other decisions that put him at odds with his two best friends, possibly endangering that friendship. Hermione and Draco continue to argue, and things become more heated. Harry attempts to wrest the memory from Slughorn, and is desperately trying to figure out what Malfoy is up to. He finds a potential way to get the answer from an unexpected source. Also, Harry is faced with an ordeal that makes his need to learn Occlumency all the more dire.

_Snape exhaled deeply, "I know you're trying, you just have to learn better."_

_Better? __Learn better__? __That__ was his grand solution? Now there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Snape believed that he could not learn Occlumency. "Maybe you need to teach better!" he retorted, his temper flaring. He knew his mistake immediately after the words left his mouth. Snape was staring him down murderously._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Yes, Harry used football (or soccer) terminology. This is not a mistake.

[2] I just have to say, I love seeing Harry be more assertive.

[3] Not sure if they have a draft, but we're going to assume they do.

[4] Okay, so Hermione uses the Lord's name in vain here, so she's obviously not über-religious, which I think is consistent with her character. It is my humble opinion that she is far too left-brained to believe in religion. But still, I would think she would believe a lot of the principles are right (charity, kindness, etc.), just not the theology. And you know what they say, old habits die hard. Saying "Jesus", in my experience, is much more offensive than saying "God" (I know plenty of people who believe in God that say "Oh my god" all of the time). It is generally viewed as a much more mild form of cursing to my knowledge. I am referring to Chapter 9, of course. But just in case you were thinking something was inconsistent, here is my explanation. And she does say it in the books.

[5] Just a thought, at any school I've heard of, teachers are prohibited from drinking alcohol when with students, especially on campus. Even if it was a huge school team going out to dinner, coaches couldn't order alcohol. I would think teachers would be able to in Hogsmeade, when not chaperoning or on patrol or whatever. I'm not sure about mealtimes, it just seems strange to me. I specifically remember Harry talking about tipsy teachers at a Christmas feast, when almost no one else (students) was there. But, I don't know, that just seems wrong to me. And in the classroom setting, absolutely not. It's not a big deal, it's not like he's showing up drunk to class, but seriously, drinking in a classroom with students? (I know, he's technically not teaching, but still). In the words of Johnny Depp's Willy Wonka, "That's just weird!" Then again, it is Slughorn…

A/N: Wow. Another lengthy one. So… I lied about Chapter 7 being the longest chapter. I'm pretty confident this one may be though (but don't take my word for it). I'm just crankin' 'em out now. And every time it surprises me too! I think it's from adding all of the material for the memories. I really don't think they're going to come out this long when I start writing them. It just starts to take a life of its own, I guess.

Sorry if you found all of the Quidditch details uninteresting (I used some of my own personal knowledge from playing on soccer and basketball teams for many years), but I think it helps us understand Harry's perspective a little bit more, and it's part of his character to be knowledgeable about the game.

Signing off,

fanster


	12. Pursuit

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything here except my own ideas. Also as a heads up, most of the Potions class scene and bits of the Quidditch match are taken from HBP. But the rest is purely from my own imagination.

I'd like to thank **Midoriryu** for the review.

I updated the third chapter (Chapter 4 on the pull-down menu). Not much changed, just the beginning of Snape's recollection. I just really wanted to get down Snape's great one-liner from the book. I forgot to add it in as planned before posting and then forgot about it entirely.

Sorry this is a bit late. Busy day, exams… ugh. You'll have to excuse me if there are any typos. I didn't get a really good chance to double-check my work. This might be my favorite chapter that I've written so far.

WARNING: Violence including blood. Not too graphic. Does not warrant an M rating. T is appropriate. I just wanted to make sure I gave everyone a head's up.

* * *

Chapter 11

Pursuit

It was the morning of the first Quidditch match: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. The weather took a turn for the better, and the wet and gloomy weather seemed to subside for the Quidditch game. It was clear, but it also meant it was crisp and cold outside. The team was looking good, with the exception of Ron. His technique was becoming more frantic and sometimes, in his sour mood, he would take it out on the other team members. Harry was beginning to wonder if McLaggen or Ron would have been worse. One practice, Ron became so aggressive that he and Seamus almost got into a fist fight. When he harshly rebuked Peakes, even Coote, who was typically mild-tempered, became upset. "Leave him alone!" he told Ron angrily; he was much skinnier than Ron, but admittedly he was also carrying a bat. "He's doing just fine, why don't you focus on your own game? That could use plenty of work." Ron looked ready to make another retort, but Ginny intervened before he could get a word out. "Yeah, stop being such a prat!" she yelled irately.

"You don't speak to me like that!" Ron bellowed right back. "I'm your older brother! Show me some respect like you're supposed to." To which Ginny supplied, "I'm not going to respect a complete asshole like you!"

"Enough!" shouted Harry. Ron and Ginny looked ready to curse each other. If this didn't stop, Harry wasn't sure what he was going to do. Nothing he said would make a difference. He tried employing multiple strategies: encouragement, expressing a calm confidence and lack of concern that Ron would be anything but brilliant, and even getting angry again in hopes of provoking Ron and stoking his competitive (goal-saving) fire, but they were all equally unsuccessful and Ron went to bed on the eve of the game as despondent and dejected as ever. He asserted that after this game, he would resign. But Harry had an idea, a potentially brilliant idea to boost Ron's confidence. But he needed his other friend's cooperation for this to work.

"Hermione," Harry whispered in a low voice before they entered the Great Hall for breakfast. "I need your help with something…" he quickly explained his plan, before Ron came back when he noticed they weren't following him anymore, looking very suspicious.

"What're you two doing?"

"Nothing," lied Harry. "I just had a quick question about our homework assignment… Never mind. Let's eat." Ron nodded his head sullenly; he was out of sorts and looked like he might become ill. The Gryffindor table — a solid mass of red and gold — greeted them as they joined the table ("You'll be great, Ron!" he heard Lavender say). Harry looked over to see Ron turn a shade of pale green, he thought it would not be the smartest idea to see if Ron wanted anything to eat at the moment, pausing a moment to reflect how rare such an occasion this was. "If you're not going to eat, at least have something to drink." He looked across the table at Hermione, who gave a subtle, surreptitious nod. "Coffee? Tea? Pumpkin juice?" Ron didn't answer, so Harry chose some Earl Grey.

"Ron, wait, don't drink that!" Hermione said suddenly.

Ron looked confused, "Why not?" He turned to look at Harry, who made sure that Ron would catch a brief glimpse of the gold liquid-containing vial before stowing it away in his robes.

"Because Harry just put something in your drink, didn't you Harry?" she accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hermione."

"Oh, I think you do. What's that you've got in your pocket, then?"

"Nothing," he said quickly in defense.

"Just don't drink it, Ron."

"Stop telling me what to do, Hermione," snapped Ron, who took the tea and gulped it down right then and there.

"You could be expelled, Harry! I can't believe you. You know, Quidditch isn't everything." And she stormed off out of the Hall in apparent anger.

"Pretty lucky the weather's turned out, don't you think?" Harry asked Ron pleasantly, apparently ignoring what Hermione said.

"Yeah, yeah, pretty lucky…" Ron said without really paying attention. "Wait… lucky?… Lucky! Harry — I… you… you didn't — my drink — did you?" he said more animatedly, looking both scared and excited.

Harry raised his eyebrows, and merely said, "We'd better head down and change, we don't want to be late for our first match."

Once in the locker rooms, Harry said, "Alright everyone, from what I've seen in practice, there's no reason we can't trounce Slytherin today. Just go out there and do what you've been doing for the past couple of weeks, and we should be fine." He didn't want to give a big speech like Wood, but this was also the first Quidditch match for some of the members of the team. He always felt a little bit of the butterflies before a big game, but it was a healthy nervousness. Nothing compared to what some of them may be feeling now — especially Ron.

They walked out onto the pitch to tumultuous roars and boos. One end of the stadium was solid red and gold; the other, a sea of green and silver. Many Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had taken sides too: Amidst all the yelling and clapping Harry could distinctly hear the roar of Luna Lovegood's infamous lion-headed hat. He smiled, the butterflies disappearing in an instant thinking about Luna and her ridiculous hat.

Harry stepped up to Madam Hooch, the referee, who was standing ready to release the balls from the crate.

"Captains shake hands," she instructed. Unsurprisingly, as one of the only remaining members of last year's team, Malfoy had been made captain, which only served to intensify the rivalry between the two Houses. Harry and Malfoy shook hands reluctantly, but Malfoy didn't seem as heated as usual and didn't even make any snide comments to Harry [1]. Maybe it was because Madame Hooch was present. "Mount your brooms. On my whistle… three… two… one…"

The whistle sounded, Harry and the others kicked off hard from the frozen ground, and they were off in a matter of twigs and fluttering robes.

Harry soared around the perimeter of the grounds, looking around for the Snitch and keeping one eye on Malfoy, who was zigzagging far below him. Then a voice that was jarringly different than the usual commentator's started up.

"Well, there they go, and I think we're all surprised to see the team that Potter's put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley's patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the Captain does help…"

These words were greeted with jeers and applause from the Slytherin end of the pitch. Harry craned around on his broom to look toward the commentator's podium. A tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose was standing there, talking into the magical megaphone that had once been Lee Jordan's; Harry recognized Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff player whom he heartily disliked.

"Oh, and here comes Slytherin's first attempt on goal; it's Urquhart streaking down the pitch and —"

Harry's stomach turned over.

"— Weasley saves it, well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose…"

"That's right, Smith, he is," muttered Harry, grinning to himself, as he dived amongst the Chasers with his eyes searching all around for some hint of the elusive Snitch.

With half an hour of the game gone, Gryffindor were leading sixty points to zero, Ron having made some truly spectacular saves, some by the very tips of his gloves, and Ginny having scored four of Gryffindor's six goals. This effectively stopped Zacharias wondering loudly whether the two Weasleys were only there because Harry liked them, and he started on Peakes and Coote instead.

"Of course, Coote isn't really the usual build for a Beater," said Zacharias loftily, "they've generally got a bit more muscle —"

"Send a Bludger his way!" Harry called to Coote as he zoomed past, but Coote, with his lopsided grin, chose instead to aim the next Bludger at Vaisey who was presently in possession of the Quaffle. Harry was pleased to hear the dull thunk that meant the Bludger had found its mark.

It seemed as though Gryffindor could do no wrong. Again and again they scored, and again and again, at the other end of the pitch, Ron saved goals with apparent ease. He was actually smiling now, and when the crowd greeted a particularly good save with a rousing chorus of the old favorite "Weasley Is Our King," he pretended to conduct them from on high.

"Thinks he's something special today, doesn't he?" said a snide voice, and Harry was nearly knocked off his broom as Malfoy collided with him hard and deliberately. "Your blood-traitor pal…" Madam Hooch's back was turned, and though Gryffindors below shouted in anger, by the time she looked around, Malfoy had already sped off. His shoulder aching, Harry raced after him, determined to ram him back…

And then he saw it: the small glint of gold. Fortune seemed to finally decide to reward the other side; Malfoy was much closer. But the Snitch made a sharp downwards turn and zipped off in a completely different direction. Now, it was a close to an even race between the two of them. Malfoy had the slight advantage because he was still a bit closer, but Harry had the superior broom.

Harry accelerated; the wind was whistling in his ears so that it drowned all sound of Smith's commentary or the crowd, but Malfoy was still ahead of him, and Gryffindor was only a hundred points up; if Malfoy got there first and Gryffindor lost… Harry very badly wanted to beat not only Slytherin, but Malfoy. Now, he pulled up level to Malfoy on Malfoy's left side, who tried to bump him off course. Harry didn't budge from his course and tried to return the favor. They tussled for position and the Snitch was leading them in arcing paths around the stadium. Up close, Harry could see how tired Malfoy looked; he had grey bags under his eyes and seemed even paler than usual — he truly did look terrible, yet still determined to catch the Snitch. But before thoughts of Harry's Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater theory could emerge, his distractedness allowed Malfoy to get nearer to the Snitch. Malfoy had his hand outstretched, reaching out for the Snitch which zoomed downwards. Harry wouldn't be able to reach it, and Malfoy only had to dip his broom to lower himself to ensnare it. This thought sparked something within Harry, and consequently, he performed a daring, impulsive, and possibly stupid stunt. He gripped the handle of his broom with his left hand, and with one swift motion vaulted off his broom, swung himself forward, and captured the Snitch with his right hand. "YES!" he yelled triumphantly as the wings of the Snitch fluttered desperately inside of his hand.

Suddenly, it was as if the volume was turned back on and Harry heard the mixture of sounds with cheers of jubilation, roars of disappointment, and screams of terror. He was sure Hermione was part of the latter category. He pulled himself back onto his broom (it really was good that he worked out this summer — workouts which sometimes included pull-ups or else he might have had a little trouble getting back onto his broom), and smiled widely, holding the captured Snitch up in the air victoriously. His teammates mobbed him and they flew down together, except for Ginny who overshot the group until she collided with the commentator's podium. As the crowd shrieked and laughed, the Gryffindor team landed beside the wreckage of wood under which Zacharias was feebly stirring, Harry heard Ginny saying blithely to an irate Professor McGonagall, "Forgot to brake, Professor, sorry."

Harry laughed heartily with the rest of the team and found he could not take his eyes off her. "Good one, Ginny," he said quickly and forced himself to rip his eyes away from the beautiful red-head. Clapping Ron on the shoulder, the rest of the team followed suit and, all enmity forgotten, congratulated him on his superb performance. Harry looked and saw a solitary figure in green and silver, with very blond hair, leaving the pitch. Malfoy didn't even seem that upset when Harry had snatched the Snitch from under his grasp. He didn't get angry like he normally did, and this roused Harry's suspicion. But he was under the watch of his teammates and couldn't investigate the matter further without arousing suspicion himself. But he noted this in the back of his mind for a later time.

Harry and Ron were the last two in the changing room. They were about to leave when Hermione entered the room. "Oh my gosh, Harry! Do you want to get yourself killed?"

Harry just laughed. And that's when Hermione became suddenly stern.

"Harry, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to tell McGonagall about what you did," she said with a deadpan expression. "You heard Slughorn, it's illegal."

"What're you going to do? Turn us in?" Ron demanded.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Ron. It was Harry, after all, who slipped it in without telling you."

"Just butt out of this, Hermione!" Harry yelled trying to sound angry.

Ron looked so disarmed with the two of them at each other's throats (it was usually him and Hermione), that Harry and Hermione could no longer keep up the charade and burst out laughing. His subsequent confusion caused them to laugh even harder. After a while, Ron started to become a bit disgruntled and asked, "Alright, what's so funny?"

"You didn't get any Felix Felicis, Ron. I faked putting it in. I just asked Hermione to 'catch' me doing it so you would think you were lucky," Harry explained. "I told you, it was all in your head."

"But, the weather and — I saved everything." Harry drew out the tiny bottle out of his robes. "You saved everything because you felt lucky. Everything you did, you did yourself."

"There really wasn't anything in my tea this morning?"

Harry and Hermione shook their heads and Harry showed the small vial to Ron; it was full to the brim and still sealed tightly with wax. Ron gaped at them for a few moments. "Oh," he said nonchalantly and straightening his robes and his posture, apparently pulling himself together, "I knew that," he finished imperiously.

Harry and Hermione laughed and Harry clapped Ron on the back again. "Come on, let's go." Dean had informed them there was to be a party in the common room. They arrived at the Gryffindor celebration party, which was in full swing when they arrived. Renewed cheers and applause greeted their appearance, and he and Ron were soon surrounded by a mob of people congratulating them on the win.

Many of the girls approached Harry, laughing at his least funny comments and flirting shamelessly with him. When he was able to extract himself from a particularly persistent group of fourth-year girls, he hastily made his way to Hermione's side. After that, she became the recipient of some notably withering looks. "Oh great, thanks, Harry," she told him sarcastically.

"Well, I'm sorry, but it's not my fault all these girls are after me!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a loud chorus of wolf-whistles and cat calls. They went to go see what all of the noise was about, and walked over where an assembly of people was gathered to discover Ron wrapped around Lavender and kissing her intently.

Not expecting this to be the source of all of the ruckus, Harry had to blink his eyes a couple of times to make sure it was Ron he was seeing. "It's disgusting, isn't it?" Ginny said coming up next to him, "It looks like he's eating her face," she said distastefully. "Anyways, great game, Harry," she said and patted his arm before walking away to help herself to some more butterbeer. He felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, followed by a sinking one. Hermione was no longer standing next to him, and he turned just in time to see her distinctly Hermione-ish mane of bushy hair whipping out of sight through the portrait hole. By the time he was able to get to the door (and evade those fourth-year girls), he saw no sign of her in the corridor. He wasn't sure which way she went, but he doubted she went very far. He went to one of the unoccupied rooms to see if she was there, but found the first one empty. He opened the next one and continued to try and find her…

_. *** .  
_

Draco was on his way back from the Room of Requirement when he saw two boys walking his way from the direction of the Gryffindor common room, possibly fifth years, laughing about something. He heard them say something about Weasley, _Weasley_ of all people, snogging someone in full view of a public audience. It was probably Granger he thought disgustedly. Or perhaps that other girl, he always forgot her name but it was some color. He always knew when relationships were bound to be formed and that girl had been flagrantly attempting to allure and charm the Weasel. Why, Draco had no idea. But he also knew that Granger and Weasley had been eyeing each other for quite some time. However, the other girl was much more forward and more proactive, so it was just as likely it could have been her. He didn't particularly care, he was more focused on his mission and frustratingly, his trip to the Room of Requirement had not been very successful. The two boys suddenly saw him, and one had the audacity to demand, "What're you doing here?" Draco decided to stare them down, but unfortunately this strategy was not effective. He found that after his father had been captured, people seemed to act more defiantly towards him. This did nothing to improve his mood. "I," he declared haughtily, "am a Prefect. Where I choose to be is solely my business. I expect you to treat me with the proper respect in the future. Now, get out of here."

They left, but not before glancing back suspiciously. He doubted they knew about the secret room, so he didn't much care. Still, he stood resolutely and glared at them until they receded out of sight down the staircase, probably to eat at the Great Hall.

Next, he learned which girl was the unlucky winner. Apparently it was Insert-color-here because Granger was running down the corridor looking very upset. He hid in one of the alcoves by the stairs so she couldn't see him. Successfully hidden, she ran right past him without noticing he was there. She then proceeded to enter an empty, unused room. Knowing this would most likely only lead to trouble, he let his curiosity get the better of him. He started towards the room she had just entered, only to see Potter stick his head out of where he knew the Gryffindor common rooms were. The Golden Boy was undoubtedly looking for his female friend, but he was going the wrong way.

Draco crept over to the door and slipped in unnoticed. Granger's head was buried in her arms; she was perched on a small step and was surrounded by birds. How odd. He walked over to a bookshelf and selected a tome, silently turning to its center pages. Then he closed it with a snap.

"You really think I want to listen to this, Granger?"

At the sound of the voice and the book snapping shut, she gasped in surprise. But she could have recognized that careless drawl anywhere. She could have sworn there was no one in the room when she entered it. But he was half concealed by the bookcase; she could have easily missed him in her hysterics. Great. Just great. Out of all the rooms in Hogwarts to cry in she just had to pick the one with Draco Malfoy in it. What was he doing here anyway?

She looked up with moist eyes and tears rolling down her face. Her runny nose was bright cherry and her cheeks were flushed, her hair was even more disheveled than usual. Her eyes were swollen and puffy. She looked pathetic, thought Draco. He thought that seeing her this way would give him great pleasure. After all, she was just a Mudblood and one of the people he despised most in this school. He was sure seeing her vulnerable and stripped of her defiance and supreme confidence would leave him satisfied, giving him perfect conditions in which to taunt her; but he found he was just on edge. Then again, he had never dealt well with crying women. He hated it when his mother did it — and she did it increasingly more these days — or even when he slighted Parkinson, whom he didn't especially care for. He found himself wishing he had never entered the room, and now wanted nothing more than to disappear, to escape it. But to leave now would look extremely out of character and maybe even considerate of him. No, that wouldn't do.

"So, what's the matter with you?" he inquired casually. "I mean, besides the obvious. Clearly, there's something wrong with you in general. But why are you here?" He was rambling, and he knew it. "Why aren't you crying on the shoulders your noble lackeys Potty and the Weasel?"

He noticed how she practically flinched at the word 'Weasel'. He could guess what it was. "So, how are Weasel-bee and his tramp… What's her name? Violet?"

"Lavender!" How did _he_ know about that already? Did everyone know? worried Hermione.

He was startled by the ferocity in her answer. Needless to say, he did not chose to finish his intended sentence by following her outburst with a 'these days'.

He was goading her more as a defense mechanism, he didn't know how else to act around her. But he grew more alarmed as tears threatened to spill over once again. He was making it worse. Why did women have to cry so much? Didn't they know it made men distinctly uncomfortable? He tried to amend this injustice being forced upon him, but all he found were more insults tumbling unbidden out of his mouth. Why couldn't he just stop and get the hell out of here? She voiced this same opinion.

"Just leave me alone! Get out of here, Malfoy!"

It was bad enough that she was crying, _crying_ over a boy. The mere idea seemed utterly ludicrous. Maybe it was because Ron was one of her best friends? Either way, she knew she was being quite pathetic. Reduced to tears over boy troubles like those God-awful teenage sitcoms on television. But Malfoy of all people got to sit back and enjoy the view of Hermione Granger, the top student in her year, weeping as if her grandmother had just died. She knew all of this, yet despite all of this, she could not stop the tears from coming. It just felt so _miserable_.

"You're even more of an idiot than I thought. Crying over worthless riffraff like Weasley? He doesn't have half the brains to converse with you, much less maintain with a relationship with you."

Hermione blinked. This comment struck her as odd. Did Malfoy just unknowingly imply that Ron wasn't good enough for her, and conversely, she was too good for him?

Now she was looking at him very strangely. As if she couldn't quite identify what kind of species he was in Care of Magical Creatures. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. _Now what?_ he thought.

He was saved by Harry bloody Potter. Never before had Draco been so glad to see him. He shrunk behind the cabinet so as not to be seen. He was glad of the insufferable golden boy's presence, but by no means did that insinuate that he wanted to interact with him. Hermione apparently agreed with this notion and stopped looking in his direction, allowing him to remain hidden and giving no indication that anyone else was in the room.

"Hermione?" Harry asked uncertainly. Seeing the birds she had clearly conjured out of midair, he couldn't help but admire her spell-work even at a time like this.

"Hi, Harry," she said in a brittle voice, "I was just practicing."

Harry sighed, he had no idea what to say, she had clearly been crying, so he just sat down next to her on the step. She seemed very close to breaking down, he felt awful, but there was nothing he could do to fix it. "I'm really sorry, Hermione." It was a pathetic thing to say, but he could think of nothing else.

She began to sob again and he wrapped his arm around her as she buried her face in his the side of his chest, which she couldn't help notice was rather bulkier and firmer than she remembered it being. Her friend was growing up, but his sweet demeanor never changed. Even the times they fought each other she could tell he felt guilty about it. Ron was always the one who would be nasty to her. Ron… a fresh wave of tears hit her, she badly wanted to stop. But it also felt good to be consoled by Harry. It was almost cathartic to just cry it out on her friend's, apparently now much broader, shoulder. It was much better than being alone… well, not quite alone.

Hermione appreciated Harry's earnestness and he made her feel better, but she would rather not be consoled in the presence of one infuriating platinum blond-haired boy. But he was in the room first, after all, and only her stupidity put her in her current situation. Not to mention he wasn't exactly harassing her and may have even underhandedly complimented her. This was absolutely gentleman-like behavior for Malfoy. And the last thing she needed right now was a confrontation between the two to add to her plate, and possibly sparking Harry's bordering on neurotic paranoia did not appeal to her in the slightest. She would deal with Malfoy later.

"I don't know, Hermione. I know Ron likes you, he just —"

Hermione gave a watery snort.

"He's being a prat," Harry continued. "No guy with even half a brain would pick that girl over you." He knew he was insulting his friend, but Ron, in Harry's opinion, completely deserved it. Sometimes Ron wasn't the most considerate person, especially when it came to Hermione, which was what bothered Harry. If Ron really cared about her, why did he treat her this way? He had to know what this would do to her; she was strong, but she could also be very sensitive sometimes.

Hermione whole-heartedly agreed that Ron was, indeed, the world's biggest prat. Just as this thought came to the forefront of her brain, the source of all of her problems in the form of a red-headed menace barged in, pulling that horrendous girl in by the hand.

"Oh," he said, drawing up short at the sight of Harry and Hermione.

"Oops!" said Lavender, and she backed out of the room, giggling. The door swung shut behind her.

There was a horrible, billowing silence. Hermione was staring at Ron, who refused to look at her, but said with an odd mixture of bravado and awkwardness, "Hey, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!"

"What d'you want?" Harry asked coldly.

"Oh, umm…"

Hermione stood up. The little flock of golden birds continued to twitter in circles around her head so that she looked like a strange, feathery model of the solar system.

"You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside," she said almost inaudibly. "She'll wonder where you've gone." Hermione walked very slowly and erectly toward the door. Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking relieved that nothing worse had happened. Harry got up to leave as well. He thought Hermione might not want to be alone and he certainly wasn't going to spend any time with Ron and Lavender, though, they probably wanted to be alone at the moment, he thought disgustedly. He made sure to glare at Ron to show his disapproval as he followed Hermione out of the door.

"See ya," Ron managed to voice timidly.

He was being a coward, so Harry ignored him, but Hermione had other plans. She turned around to look at Ron, with barely contained rage in her eyes. "Oppugno," she said stonily. Harry spun around to see Hermione pointing her wand at Ron. The little flock of birds was speeding like a hail of fat golden bullets toward Ron, who yelped and covered his face with his hands, but the birds attacked, pecking and clawing at every bit of flesh they could reach.

"Gerremoffme!" he yelled, but with one last look of vindictive fury, Hermione wrenched open the door and disappeared through it. Lavender looked extremely confused.

Harry probably should have told Hermione that attacking Ron with vicious birds was going too far and she should call them off lest they inflict serious injury, but he didn't quite have the heart to do so. He also wasn't feeling quite so generous towards Ron at the moment.

Draco watched in fascination in his hidden corner. It was rather amusing to watch Weasley being attacked by birds, and he certainly wasn't going to come out of his hiding place to help him. It was very well done, he begrudgingly admitted. And while thinking the whole episode unusual, he nevertheless thought he was extremely lucky not to have gotten into trouble by a snitching Granger or even a scolding from Potter. But his original thought was closer to the mark. He had no idea what trouble this exchange would bring him…

. *** .

Breakfast the next day was a distinctly awkward affair. Harry was sandwiched, as per usual when Hermione and Ron commenced their cycle of infighting, uncomfortably between the two and swore he could feel Hermione's blazing gaze burning through him to Ron as well as Ron's nervous writhing. Hermione said not a word to Ron, and Ron was smart enough not to try and engage in conversation. Lavender on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to the mounting tension. She was sitting on the other side of Ron and practically cuddling him at the table. Harry still wasn't happy with Ron, but he wasn't going to refuse to talk to him. His answers may have been a little short, but he still didn't want to cause a rift between him and either of his friends, even if the two of them weren't currently talking to one another.

"I need to get that memory from Slughorn," he said in quiet undertones to Hermione. But he didn't have to worry about being overhead, because he had cast the Mufliatto spell — an invention of the Prince's — so that only Hermione and Ron could hear him. But Hermione didn't know that; Harry didn't tell her because she tended to get annoyed whenever he mentioned the Half-Blood Prince. He had made a habit of reading his Potions book before bed — behavior which Ron said was indecent in anybody except Hermione who was 'simply weird that way'. But Harry felt, the Prince's (as he now referred to him) copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ hardly qualified as a textbook. The more Harry pored over the book, the more he realized how much was in there; not only the handy hints and shortcuts on potions that was earning him such a glowing reputation with Slughorn, but also the imaginative little jinxes and hexes scribbled in the margins — which Harry was sure, judging by the crossings-out and revisions, the Prince had invented himself. Muffliato was a spell that filled the ears of anyone nearby with an unidentifiable buzzing, so that lengthy conversations could be held in class or at the dining table without being overheard.

"He loves you," Ron leaned over to tell Harry. "Won't refuse you anything, will he? Not his little Potions Prince. Just hang back after class this afternoon and ask him."

"That won't be enough. If Dumbledore couldn't even get it out of him, he must be determined to hide it," she hissed, apparently forgetting her self-imposed rule of not speaking to Ron in her readiness to criticize him. But Ron was already distracted by Lavender who appeared not to like having Ron's attention diverted from her for even a moment ("Hmpf," huffed Hermione). Harry didn't see what else he could do and he might as well try the simplest plan and if that failed, he would just have to try something else. He had already asked Hermione if she knew what Horcruxes were, but to his disappointment, she was just as clueless as him. They both agreed it must involve very dark magic.

The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.

"Ha!" said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

"Oh good," said Hermione, "now you can give that graffitied copy back."

"Are you mad?" said Harry. "I'm not going to trade this one back in! Look, I've thought it out —"

He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, "Diffindo!" The cover fell off. He did the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, "Reparo!"

There sat the Prince's copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly secondhand.

"I'll give Slughorn back the new one, he can't complain, it cost nine Galleons."

Hermione pressed her lips together, looking very disapproving.

"Settle down, settle down, please!" Slughorn announced as they took their seat for potions that morning after breakfast. "Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott's Third Law… who can tell me — ? But Miss Granger can, of course!"

Hermione recited at top speed: "Golpalott's Third Law states that the-antidote-for-a-blended-poison will be equal-to-more-than-the-sum-of-the-antidotes for-each-of-the-separate-components."

"Precisely!" beamed Slughorn. "Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott's Third Law as true…"

Harry was going to have to take Slughorn's word for it that Golpalott's Third Law was true, because he had not caught anything Hermione had said.

"…which means, of course, that assuming we have achieved correct identification of the potion's ingredients by Scraping's Revelaspell, our primary aim is not the relatively simple one of selecting antidotes to those ingredients in and of themselves, but to find that added component which will, by an almost alchemical process, transform these disparate elements…"

Ron was sitting beside Harry with his mouth half-open, doodling absently on his new copy of Advanced Potion-Making. Ron kept forgetting that he could no longer rely on Hermione to help him out of trouble when he failed to grasp what was going on.

"…and so," finished Slughorn, "I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don't forget your protective gloves!"

Hermione had left her stool and was halfway towards Slughorn's desk before the rest of the class had realized it was time to move, and by the time Harry, Ron and Ernie returned to the table, she had already tipped the contents of her phial into her cauldron and was kindling a fire underneath it.

"It's a shame that the Prince won't be able to help you much with this, Harry," she said a little too contentedly for Harry's liking as she straightened up. "You have to understand the principles involved this time. No shortcuts involved."

Annoyed, Harry uncorked the poison he had taken from Slughorn's desk, which was a garish shade of pink, tipped it into his cauldron and lit a fire underneath it. He did not have the faintest idea what he was supposed to do next. He glanced at Ron, who was now standing there at a loss, having copied everything Harry had done. He knew it had to do something with finding the antidote for each ingredient, but also taking into consideration how these would react. He didn't have all of these memorized.

"You sure the Prince hasn't got any tips?" Ron muttered to Harry.

Harry pulled out his trusty copy of Advanced Potion-Making and turned to the chapter on Antidotes. There was Golpalott's Third Law, stated word for word as Hermione had recited it, but not a single illuminating note in the Prince's hand to simplify things. Apparently, the Prince had no problems understanding Golpalott's Third Law.

"Nothing," said Harry gloomily.

Hermione was now waving her wand enthusiastically over her cauldron. Unfortunately, they could not copy the spell she was doing because she was now so good at non-verbal incantations that she did not need to say the words aloud. Ernie Macmillan, however, was muttering, "Specialis revelio!" over his cauldron, which sounded impressive, so Harry and Ron hastened to imitate him.

It took Harry only five minutes to realize that his reputation as the best potion-maker in the class was crashing around his ears. Slughorn had peered hopefully into his cauldron on his first circuit of the dungeon, preparing to exclaim in delight as he usually did, and instead walked on without saying a word. Harry had not made much progress. Hermione looked rather pleased; she had loathed being outperformed in every Potions class. She was now decanting the mysteriously separated ingredients of her poison into ten different crystal phials. With nothing else to do, Harry bent over the Half-Blood Prince's book and turned a few pages with unnecessary force.

And there it was, scrawled right across a long list of antidotes.

_Just shove a bezoar down their throats._

Harry stared at these words for a moment. He had heard of bezoars at one point in time, he was sure of it. Hadn't Snape mentioned them in their first ever Potions lesson? Yes, 'a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, which will protect from most poisons.'

It was not the solution to the Golpalott problem, and had Snape still been their teacher, Harry might not have dared do it, but this was a moment for desperate measures. He hastened towards the store cupboard and rummaged within it, pushing aside unicorn horns and tangles of dried herbs until he found, at the very back, a small card box on which had been scribbled the word 'Bezoars'.

He opened the box just as Slughorn called, "Two minutes left, everyone!" Inside were half a dozen shriveled brown objects, looking more like dried-up kidneys than real stones. Harry seized one, put the box back in the cupboard and hurried back to his cauldron.

"Time's… Up!" called Slughorn genially. "Well, let's see how you've done! Blaise… what have you got for me?"

Slowly, Slughorn moved around the room, examining the various antidotes. Nobody had finished the task, although Hermione was trying to cram a few more ingredients into her bottle before Slughorn reached her. Ron had given up completely, and was merely trying to avoid breathing in the putrid fumes issuing from his cauldron. Harry stood there waiting, the bezoar clutched in a slightly sweaty hand.

Slughorn reached their table last. He sniffed Ernie's potion and passed on to Ron's with a grimace. He did not linger over Ron's cauldron, but backed away swiftly, coughing.

"And you, Harry," he said. "What have you got to show me?"

Harry held out his hand, the bezoar sitting on his palm.

Slughorn looked down at it for a full ten seconds. Harry wondered, for a moment, whether he was going to become angry with him and jeopardize Harry's chances of capturing that memory. But then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"You've got nerve, boy!" he boomed, taking the bezoar and holding it up so that the class could see it. "Oh, you're like your mother… well, I can't fault you… a bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!"

Hermione, who was sweaty-faced and flushed, looked livid. Her half-finished antidote, comprised of about fifty ingredients, bubbled sluggishly behind Slughorn, who had eyes for nobody but Harry.

"And you thought of a bezoar all by yourself, did you?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"That's the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs!" said Slughorn happily, before Harry could reply. "Just like his mother, she had the same intuitive grasp of potion-making, its undoubtedly from Lily he gets it… yes, Harry, yes, if you've got a bezoar to hand, of course that would do the trick… although as they don't work on everything, and are pretty rare, it's still worth knowing how to mix antidotes…"

The only person in the room looking angrier than Hermione was Malfoy, whose own potion Harry was gratified to see, was not much better than Ron's. Before either of them could express their fury that Harry had come top of the class by not doing any work, however, the bell rang.

"Time to pack up!" said Slughorn. "And an extra ten points to Gryffindor for sheer cheek!"

Still chuckling, he waddled back to his desk at the front of the dungeon.

Harry dawdled behind, taking an inordinate amount of time to do up his bag. Neither Ron nor Hermione wished him luck as they left; both looked rather annoyed. At last Harry and Slughorn were the only two left in the room.

"Come on, now, Harry, you'll be late for your next lesson," said Slughorn affably, snapping the gold clasps shut on his dragonskin briefcase.

"Sir," said Harry, reminding himself irresistibly of Voldemort, "I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, my dear boy, ask away…"

"Sir, I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?"

Slughorn froze. His round face seemed to sink in upon itself. He licked his lips and said hoarsely, "What did you say?"

"I asked whether you know anything about Horcruxes, sir. You see —"

"Dumbledore put you up to this," whispered Slughorn.

His voice had changed completely. It was not genial any more, but shocked, terrified. He fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, mopping his sweating brow.

"Dumbledore's shown you that-that memory," said Slughorn. "Well? Hasn't he?"

"Yes," said Harry, deciding it was best not to lie.

"Yes, of course," said Slughorn quietly, still dabbing at his white face. "Of course… well, if you've seen that memory, Harry, you'll know that I don't know anything — _anything _— he repeated the word forcefully "— about Horcruxes."

He seized his dragonskin briefcase, stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and marched to the dungeon door.

"Sir," said Harry desperately, "I just thought there might be a bit more to the memory —"

"Did you?" said Slughorn. "Then you were wrong, weren't you? WRONG!"

He bellowed the last word and, before Harry could say another word, slammed the dungeon door behind him.

Neither Ron nor Hermione was at all sympathetic when Harry told them of this disastrous interview Hermione was still seething at the way Harry had triumphed without doing the work properly. Ron was resentful that Harry hadn't slipped him a bezoar, too.

"It would've looked fishy if we'd both done it!" said Harry irritably. "Look, I had to try and soften him up so I could ask him about Voldemort, didn't I? Oh, will you get a grip!" he added in exasperation, as Ron winced at the sound of the name.

Harry brooded for the next few days over what to do next about Slughorn. He decided that, for the time being, he would let Slughorn think that he had forgotten all about Horcruxes; it was surely best to lull him into a false sense of security before returning to the attack.

When Harry did not question Slughorn again, the Potions master reverted to his usual affectionate treatment of him, and appeared to have put the matter from his mind. Harry awaited an invitation to one of his little evening parties, determined to accept this time, even if he had to reschedule Quidditch practice. Unfortunately, however, no such invitation arrived. Hermione hadn't received an invitation either, nor, as far as they knew, had anybody else. Harry could not help wondering whether this meant that Slughorn was not quite as forgetful as he appeared, simply determined to give Harry no additional opportunities to question him.

Meanwhile, Hermione was extremely frustrated, for the Hogwarts library had failed to give her any answers. She was so shocked, she even forgot that she was annoyed at Harry for his trick with the bezoar.

"I haven't found one single explanation that describes the purpose of Horcruxes!" she told him. "Not a single one! I've been right through the restricted section and even in the most horrid texts, and nothing! All I could find was this, in the introduction to _Magick Moste Evile_ — listen — 'of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction'… I mean, why even mention it, then?" she said impatiently, slamming the old book shut.

After their library break they had Herbology. There, Harry looked over to see a disgruntled Crabbe and Goyle; most unusual for they never seemed to hold any expression other than a vacant stupefaction. Harry moved closer to hear them [2].

"I've already told you, I can't tell you what I'm doing, you got it?" said an impatient Malfoy.

"But, you always tell us everything," argued Crabbe.

"We hardly ever see you anymore," added Goyle.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm busy, it's taking me longer than I thought."

"We could help you," insisted Goyle.

"You can't help me," Malfoy said quietly. "And you better not follow me when I go. I'll know if you are." Goyle looked a little hurt and Crabbe said, "But —"

"But nothing, Crabbe." Malfoy finally noticed Harry looking. "What do you want, Potter?" he seethed.

"Me? I don't want anything from you, Malfoy. What gave you that idea?" Harry said dismissively. Mafloy glared at him, but Harry ignored him and pretended as if he hadn't heard anything. But he resolved to find out what Malfoy was up to. Harry told Ron and Hermione after class, but neither of them seemed too concerned which frustrated him to no end.

Later that day, Hermione and Draco had detention. They had been behaving properly in detention and by now had a routine. Snape was one of those people who was always busy and apparently trusted them enough to carry on without his supervision for brief moments of time while he ran errands. Well, Hermione would hope so; they were sixth years and both Prefects. Their behavior in class was a bit out of character. Well, Malfoy was sneakier about it in class, but he didn't get detention often. It was during these times, while the two would still continue with their assigned task, that they would resume their little discussions. Neither one of them wanted to give the other the last word or stand down. Their battle of words did not always solely consist of fighting words; it was more of a debate. It helped to pass the time. But this time was more awkward, as the last time they saw each other, Hermione was crying and Draco was hidden in a corner, watching Harry comfort her. He looked over at her rather apprehensively. He knew it was a pretty low blow to say anything about it, but he couldn't help himself. "So," he said. She looked over at him expectantly. "How depressing is it to know that Weasley's got more of a love life than —"

"Shut it, Malfoy."

He did, and Hermione was a bit surprised that he complied with her request. If truth be told, the fact that Malfoy was still being Malfoy brought her some odd sense of comfort. To garner his sympathy would mean that she had hit a new low of pathetic. "And what about you? Still afraid of your friends, are you?" she solicited facetiously, deliberately trying to goad him into changing the topic of conversation. And for the time being, it worked. Apparently this was a touchy subject for him.

"That's not what I said," he contended.

She folded her arms across her chest, "I'm listening."

"I've already told you, we Purebloods are expected to have certain standards, if you don't keep them, you'll be shunned in every way. Oh, not in any way that is conspicuous, but somehow you'll find that no matter what you do, you'll never gain any amount of influence. Anything you try to do will be mysteriously obstructed. You'll never go anywhere in life."

"Some Pureblood families don't follow your ridiculous code," she argued, purposely leaving out any mention of the name 'Weasley'. But Malfoy, of course, knew who she was talking about. He scoffed, "Yeah, and look how well that's served their family. Notice how he never gets promoted? All that crap that he likes where he works… I've heard it before. Truth is, he's being blackballed by those of us with influence."

"But at least they stand for something. It's you who should change, not them, and if history shows anything, that change is bound to happen."

He scoffed again. "You can be so naïve sometimes, Granger. Some things are just the way they are."

"I refuse to believe that. Our actions dictate 'the way things are.' You said earlier not just to accept change. That applies both ways. You can't just accept things because that's the way things have always been."

"It doesn't matter. There's nothing I can do about that now. You know how my family is." This statement surprised Hermione the most. That's as close as he'd ever come to admitting he may not be everything he appeared to be. "And I'm going to continue to uphold our family name," he continued, oblivious to Hermione's internal struggle. "You don't understand what it's like to come from my background. Like I said, you're living in a fantasy land. Anything I do, I have to watch my step. What would you do? Any mistakes, and someone will find out, and they will make sure you pay the consequences."

"But all of that doesn't mean you couldn't have rejected that way of thinking. You didn't have to conform to what everyone else thinks. You didn't have to treat people like me the way you do. You didn't have to —" Why was he smiling in that self-satisfactory way. No, not smiling — she thought to herself, Malfoy didn't smile — smirking. "What?"

"Everything you've just said," he said pointedly, "can be used to describe yourself."

She just stared. That was ridiculous. The impudence of it all!

"Excuse me! How is my dislike of you even close to comparable? If you hadn't made fun of me, or even if you ignored me I wouldn't feel the way I do about you. I never did anything to you. You put me down any chance you get, so don't go saying I was ever judgmental about you, Malfoy."

"It's not just me, Granger, what about any other Slytherin that you don't know?"

"Well, I don't despise them the way I despise you, do I?"

"But you still don't like them, do you?"

"I don't really care about them."

"But you wouldn't trust them, would you?" he pushed.

Hermione was at a loss and had no idea why Malfoy cared about this so much.

"Well, in my experience, no Slytherin has ever been decent to me, so no."

"That's what I'm talking about, Granger."

"That's not fair! It's simple statistics and experience. It's not that I hate all Slytherins, but chances are they won't be safe for me to trust. As you point out all of the time, I _am _a Muggle-born. Slytherins have a commonly accepted and well documented prejudice against Muggle-borns. And what about you? Do you have any Gryffindor pals?" she queried acidly, knowing full well what the answer was.

"We're not talking about me, we've already established that I am a prejudiced asshole," he said testily. Hermione raised her eyebrows. She never thought that Malfoy would ever admit, however flippantly, anything less than perfection regarding his person.

"Slytherins wouldn't have this problem if it weren't for the way you treat everyone else."

"It wouldn't have mattered," said Malfoy.

"You're joking, right? If Slytherins were even half-way decent —"

"That's not true, think about what everyone says about Slytherin. Even before you got here, what was the House of Slytherin except for 'future Dark wizards,' 'those not to be dealt with,' 'those who can't be trusted,' or 'You-Know-Who's house?'"

Yes, that was true, thought Hermione, but she would have disregarded those warnings had a Slytherin showed any amount of decency. "And what have you done to shed off those prejudices? What have you done to prove those accusations wrong?"

"Weren't you listening? I've already told you, turning your back on your family — becoming a blood traitor — is equivalent to committing the worst act of betrayal. And what have _you_ done to stop all of the hatred? All of you — Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws — you've always treated us as outsiders, shunned us from the moment that hat was put on our heads and declared us Slytherin. Have you not noticed, every year, the reception that we Slytherins receive?" Malfoy was speaking more passionately now; his eyes were full of accusation, and maybe she could even detect a trace amount of hurt. Hermione was stunned. "What have you accomplished except help to perpetuate the cycle?" he demanded.

"But if you don't believe in what they stand for, you should do what you know is right." Hermione wouldn't give up without a fight. "I know someone who did, and the rest of his family was probably worse than yours with their opinions of Muggle-borns," argued Hermione.

"That stupid mutt?" exclaimed Malfoy. Hermione blinked, so he did know about that. "Yeah, I know all about that. And what House was he sorted into?"

"Because he didn't believe in the pureblood ideology!"

"I was eleven years old! My father taught me that since day one! We were told that Slytherin was an enviable House to be sorted in. To be sorted anywhere else would be a disappointment, and Slytherin house would help us on our way to greatness… Once we're sorted in, our fate is sealed. No one will see us for anything else but 'dark' and 'evil.'"

"Your fate is not predetermined; you decide your own destiny. We always have a choice."

"Choice?" Malfoy spat. "What _choice_ do you think I have?"

When Hermione didn't answer, not that he really expected one, he continued. "Especially for those of us who have parents that follow the Dark Lord, what is it exactly that you expect us to do? Of course we're put into Slytherin, and what do we do once you get there? You know as well as I do how information spreads around at Hogwarts. You know that the majority of people in our house despise Muggle-borns, or at the very least, are indifferent towards them. I start showing sympathy, or goodwill towards you or anyone who associates with Muggle-borns, and word gets back to someone in the Dark Lord's inner circle. I guarantee you. Even my own father told me to be on the watch for possible blood traitors. Best case scenario, my family disowns me. Worst case? He kills my entire family." There was no need to ask who _He_ referred to. "And who was given the blame for his rise to power? It's always the Slytherins fault, isn't it? What is our House most famous for? For turning out the single darkest wizard of all time."

"So do you really find it odd," he continued feverishly in a low voice, "do you find it so hard to understand why we have no choice but to follow in our parents' footsteps, when the only outlet that seems available to us is the Dark Lord — our only way out? Can you really blame us for wanting revenge on the people who never truly gave us a chance to prove ourselves?"

"It's funny," he laughed. But it didn't seem funny to him at all; when he laughed it held no mirth, only deep bitterness, "because in a way, you have pushed us into being exactly what you fear us to be… because that's what expected of us, isn't it?"

The drip, drip from the water running off window pane outside seemed to magnify tenfold. "So again, I ask you, how is what you do, really any different than what I do? Why don't you put that big brain of yours into use?"

He continued. "Let's even say you did think I was alright." Hermione inwardly scoffed at the idea. "What would you do? You'd go ahead and let your _dear_ friends Potter and the Weasel know?" He saw her hesitate. "No, you'd be, _ashamed_?" he said putting an emphasis on this last word.

Hermione was reeling, as a boxer might after taking the first punch. That is exactly how she would feel. His words had a deep and profound effect on her; and everything else he had said rung true in her mind, and it hit her with a sudden and frightening force. She had been every bit as hypocritical as Malfoy, _Malfoy_, was. And realizing this very abruptly, she felt mortified, disgusted even, with herself. Silently she backed away and escaped as quickly as she could without giving the appearance of guilt or recognition. She had to get away, away from those accusatory eyes — who belonged she admitted unwillingly, to someone who had just proven her to be very wrong.

. *** .

Once again, Harry was trying to figure out what Malfoy was up to. He looked at the Marauder's Map to see where he was going, but to his bemusement, it seemed that Malfoy at times would just disappear off the map entirely. Surely he wasn't leaving the grounds? He was currently meandering through the halls of Hogwarts; Hermione was busy doing homework and after her momentary shock of her library failure, she remembered she was still irritated with Harry. And soon, she would be heading for detention. All of this led to her less than cheery mood, and so Harry didn't stick around for too long. But he also didn't want to spend any time with Ron, that is, with Ron _and_ Lavender. And this seemed to be most of the time as the two were practically inseparable. He doubted very much that they were doing homework, which gave him another reason not to spend time around Lavender if he could help it. She was rather silly and vapid in his opinion.

His musing led him to fail to hear someone greeting him by name, and the next thing he knew, he was tangled with someone else on the castle floor.

"Hi, Harry. I said 'hello', but I don't think you heard me."

It was Luna.

He helped her up and dusted himself off. "Sorry, Luna, I was distracted thinking about — er — I just wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"That's quite alright, Harry. I'm fine."

"Right, so…"

"I noticed we haven't had any DA meetings this year. Are we not having them? I've been checking my coin every day."

"Oh, no. I figured we wouldn't need them now that we have a decent professor."

"Oh. Well, I really enjoyed the meetings," said Luna serenely. "It was almost like having friends."

Harry felt guilt tug at his insides, imagining Luna holding the fake coin Hermione had skillfully charmed to inform DA members of meeting times, waiting expectantly. Luna had a habit of speaking uncomfortable truths. He wasn't sure what to say. So he asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm looking for some of my things. I believe I've already told you, but sometimes people steal my things and hide them. Normally, I don't mind so much, but there's something in particular that I wish to have back."

Harry didn't like the way this conversation was going. His own troubles forgotten for the moment, he felt incredibly sorry for Luna. Sure, she was eccentric, but she wasn't hurting anyone. He didn't understand why people were so awful to her. She was nice and she was a good person. "What are you looking for?"

"A locket. It was my mother's."

Harry knew she wasn't doing it on purpose, but the more she said, the worse he felt for her. "I'll help you look."

"You will? Oh, thanks, Harry!" she said gratefully.

"Don't worry about it," he muttered, turning slightly pink in embarrassment, "It's not a big deal."

"People don't usually offer to help me."

"Well, they should," he said shortly.

"That's nice of you to say," she said vacantly.

"Er, thanks," he replied awkwardly.

"Although —" she began, but was interrupted.

"Ha ha, watch where you're going Loony!" said a third year boy after deliberately bumping into her. Harry was amazed. Even the younger students treated her this way.

"Hey!" Harry called after the boys who were now laughing at her. "Cut that out, will you?" he demanded.

"Oh," the boy who had called out halted immediately, realizing exactly who it was that was speaking to him. "S-Sorry. I didn't know you — er — I won't do it again." The boy tried to give him a winning smile, but Harry didn't soften. "Well, uh, bye." The boy turned around and scattered with his friends. Kids really could be cruel sometimes, but they knew better.

Luna was looking at him a bit peculiarly.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Thanks again for helping me, Harry."

"Seriously, don't worry about it. That's what friends do; they help each other," he smiled and was pleased to see her return the smile.

"Sometimes the House-elves help. They've returned my things to me on a few occasions."

Harry stopped short. House-elves? Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it before? Kreacher was here. He could watch Malfoy when Harry could not. Harry was resolved to find out where Malfoy was going, and he could not monitor the Marauder's map twenty-four seven. He started off back for the dorms before he heard Luna say, "Bye, Harry."

In his excitement, he completely forgot what he was doing. He felt guilty once again. He said he would help, so he would help. The thing with Malfoy could wait. After everything she had done for him in going to the Ministry and everything else she had been through, she deserved that much. "Oh, sorry, Luna. I just got side-tracked again."

"You seem to be doing that more frequently lately."

He chuckled, yes, he had been. "Let's look for your locket."

As they searched the castle for Luna's locket, Harry noticed they were receiving some strange looks. It annoyed him. It was really none of their business who he chose to hang out with. And he considered Luna to be his friend. Most everyone else just pretended to because he was the Boy-Who-Lived or the 'Chosen One'. Luna did none of those things. He could always count on her to give her honest opinion. She had a pretty face, if she dressed more normally she would look really nice and people wouldn't make fun of her all of the time. It bothered him when people would do that. And for some them it was much more than a minor joke here or there; some of them, even her own housemates, played cruel pranks on her. He liked how she didn't seem to care what anybody else thought of her, but for her sake, he wished she would make herself less of a target or at least stand up for herself. But he guessed that was why he held a certain admiration for Luna.

They looked all over and searched the castle for hours, but unfortunately, could not find her locket. But they did find some of her other missing items, a pair of sneakers among other things.

. *** .

Meanwhile, Hermione was doing some serious self-reflection back in the dormitory. Thinking about what Malfoy of all people had said. Internally laughing bitterly, she thought how ironic it was that Malfoy's words were giving her revealing insight. What _would_ she do if Malfoy were to somehow become decent all of a sudden? No one would believe it was sincere, and not without reason. Of course then she would have no qualms about at least being civil in return. But what he said was right. He couldn't possibly outwardly show any sort of sympathy towards Harry Potter or Muggle-borns, and she fell in the latter category as well as being best friends with the former. His own father was a known Death Eater, and his entire House held similar ideals, or at the very least pretended to. Why hadn't she thought of this before? It wasn't as if it was a huge mystery. Maybe she just didn't want to think about it that way. Maybe it was just easier and more convenient to believe that Malfoy and every other Slytherin were simply evil. She knew this couldn't be true. But the fact of the matter was that if she had ever taken a moment to speculate Malfoy's situation, maybe she would have been more understanding, maybe even reached out without the presence of everyone else. Instead, she had decided to react impulsively and emotionally. Instead, if Harry was correct, he was spiraling onto a dark and twisted path. But if they were decent towards each other, but kept a hostile outward appearance — sort of like what Professor Snape had to do — what would she do then? Obviously she couldn't defend him in public. But Harry and Ron would know. And hadn't Malfoy been half-way decent towards her during their detentions together? In fact, for him it was positively delightful. So what kept her from telling Harry and Ron this? Why did she feel the need to deny that Malfoy was ever less malicious than usual? True, she did inform them of this once, but more because she was flabbergasted, not to show Malfoy in a positive light. What it because she was ashamed? Hermione felt sick.

The next Tuesday seemed to come unnaturally quickly; detention was in a half an hour, and she had been spending much of her time thinking about Malfoy. Not intentionally, of course. She had tried reading the book she had just checked out from the library, _The Future in Numbers_, but even that couldn't distract her from reflecting back on her conversation with Malfoy [3].

Hermione was dreading detention. She wasn't sure she could face Malfoy. Not after she had realized that he was at least partially right about her. It was after all, Malfoy. She had tried to convince herself that what he had so ruthlessly accused her of was not true, but she couldn't. As they say, she was hit with the cold, hard truth; there was no going back — she had crossed a point of no return. She still believed that she wasn't completely in the wrong; Malfoy had been truly terrible to her during her five years at Hogwarts, but he also had valid reasons for his version of the truth. She really didn't want to have to tell Malfoy that he'd been right. But her integrity wouldn't let her hide from the fact. She supposed she might as well head to detention now instead of wait around. She'd be a little early, but not by too much.

She entered the dimly lit classroom, all empty except for one person.

To her dismay, it seemed Malfoy had also decided to come down early. Of course, it had to be today, thought Hermione resignedly. Professor Snape must be busy elsewhere. Hermione wondered if he was actually doing anything, or just sat waiting to make a dramatic appearance right on time.

She sat at her normal spot and was surprised when Malfoy didn't turn to gloat or glare at her. The tension, though, was palpable in the air. She wondered if she would be able to silently get through detention today, and then for the rest of the month. Somehow, she doubted it. So she was immensely relieved when Professor Snape entered the room, as strange as that sounded.

"I should think by now you know what to do." And with that they both started filing and organizing papers — without magic of course.

Everything was still and quiet for a while. But after about twenty minutes or so into the detention, a scarlet phoenix materialized into the room, sang a note, and was gone before anyone could really react. Snape cleared his throat. "We will have to continue this session tomorrow. Same time." And with that he swept out of the room leaving Hermione and Draco behind. Alone.

There was an awkward and permeating silence. Malfoy had been shockingly reticent this whole time. No, this would not do, Hermione thought. Eventually she would have to face this, and she was going to see him again tomorrow after all. _You're not a Gryffindor for nothing_. She gathered herself as best she could.

"You were right."

"Sorry?" He seemed genuinely confused. Great, Hermione thought, now I'm going to have to clarify what I already don't want to admit. She took a steadying breath. "About yesterday. What you said… about —" she hesitated. _Here goes nothing_, she thought, steeling herself with as much resolve as she could muster, "about me… You were right."

"Oh." Really? _Oh_? That was all he was going to say? What happened to the gloating, boastful Malfoy she knew? His response was so disconcerting that she almost wanted him to insult her.

Well this isn't certainly what Draco expected her to say. Granger was always so stubbornly proud. He was sure she would not so readily admit she was wrong. Especially to him.

After a while, Hermione asked, "That's it? You're not going to rub it in my face? Gloat?"

When he didn't say anything she said, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy." He nodded dumbly, although he didn't know if she had left the room or not by the time he did. He was shocked that Granger, the Gryffindor know-it-all, admitted she was wrong.

. *** .

_Harry glided up the stairs noiselessly with the grace of a predatory feline. His body hummed with the thrill of power and lust. The pristine lucidity of his mind made him feel wondrously alive and energized, high off the fumes of his own successes. He allowed himself to be engulfed within them, feeding off of them. Amidst all of these highly intense sensations, he felt the almost agonizing need for more. His very essence thirsted for it, needed it._

_He could smell the raw fear, rank in the air. He followed the scent into a dingy room, unadorned but for a few framed still photographs._

_Huddled in a corner, a mother cowered over her child clutching him desperately. "No!" she screamed, "not my son. Please, kill me, but don't kill my son!" she pleaded. Her pathetic cries grated on his ears. His heightened sense of hearing also picked up the cacophonous sound of the screams of terror in the distant background; no doubt, the work of his servants. Music to my ears, he thought, if he ever cared for such trivial things as music._

_She continued to plead with him, to beg him, speaking of nonsense that he cared nothing about. It was nigh time to silence her vexing protestations._

_"Crucio!"_

_She shrieked in anguish, writhing about like some pitiful, dying creature. And with her pain, he sensed his own gratification swell triumphantly._

_Once he lifted the spell she uttered faintly, "No, no… not my son."_

_Even now, she still had the gall to request his mercy. Mercy that would not be forthcoming. The woman feebly reached out to her child, as if to protect him. Did she not know that her efforts were hopelessly futile? That, he, the greatest and most feared wizard of all time — whose name witches and wizards around the world did not even dare to speak — would surely always get what he wanted, in the end. Foolish woman, he thought disgustedly._

_The small boy started to cry. His mother looked at him with such emotion and compassion in her eyes. Did my mother ever look upon me with such eyes, he wondered?… It mattered not, he told himself in disgust. Such thoughts were foolish. She was dead; in the end, it meant nothing. Unlike himself, she had been too weak to survive — had succumbed to death. He would never be so submissive… Weak. They were all weak. Undeserving of his consideration. And none of them would ever come close to what he had become, to what he had achieved. Of course, they would never get the chance._

_He slashed his wand violently in a fluid, diagonally downward motion._

_Flesh was cleaved from bone, reducing this pathetic excuse of a life to the whimpering, crumpled form it really was; the vermilion liquid poured out of the gash in the women's midsection. The sweet smell of blood filled his nostrils, which flared in pleasure. Aroused by the alluring and delicate aroma, he could no longer contain his unbearable hunger._

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_The already motionless mass of flesh and bones twitched delightfully, the life leaving it at his command instantaneously._

_Two small eyes now locked onto his, watching him inquisitively — oblivious to the significance of what had just occurred._

_But this would soon be set right; those eyes would never light up again._

_He let those two hauntingly precious words fall from his lips yet again. The dazzling, beautiful green light swallowed the room and all the life within it, save for one._

_Power. He soaked in the power ravenously until he could feel it coursing through his veins._

_The dark energy, which seemed to fizz in the air like lightning and crackle tantalizingly upon his skin, was intoxicating and he cackled hysterically as his frenzied state of ecstasy reached its climax, fully realizing the awesome power he possessed. Every living thing was at his mercy, with only a couple of words and the swift stroke of his wand which he cradled lovingly, caressing it with the thin pale digits of his deft and unrivaled hand._

Harry woke up with a start, sweating and shaking. He turned over the side of his bed and threw up. His scar was burning and his heart was pounding madly. He sucked in the air with shuddering and rattling breaths.

He saw movement to the left and quickly turned towards the motion, but he soon realized the moving blob of color could only be Ron.

He fumbled for his glasses, the blur, presumably Ron, was helping him put them on.

Thankfully, it seemed Harry had not awoken the others, which means he must not have been laughing this time which was a good sign.

"Harry, you alright, mate?"

"Yeah, I just —"

But he wasn't alright, he wasn't fine, and he needed to get away. Far away.

He suddenly jumped up and, without even donning his robe scrambled out of the dormitory.

"Harry!" Ron hissed.

Harry clambered out of the portrait hole ("And just where do you think you're going at this hour, young man?") and meandered the halls on unsteady feet, aimlessly trying to dispel all thoughts of what had just occurred.

The sudden joyful lurch in his stomach was in stark contrast to everything he was feeling now, and made him feel as if he would become ill again. He let his feet carry him to his unknown destination.

He felt cool air hit his face, slowing his rapid breath a little. He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the feeling of the breeze on his face. _Where am I_?

"Potter."

He didn't want to listen to the voice, he just wanted to stay here for a while. Why couldn't it just leave him alone — let him enjoy a few moments of silence and peace?

. *** .

Severus Snape groaned, as much as students believed that he liked to catch students out of bed, he'd rather be sleeping. True, he was very much a night person, but having to patrol the halls in the waning hours between dusk and dawn was not a pleasurable task and only served to worsen his already sour mood.

And so it was with extreme aggravation that he saw the Potter brat amble carelessly up the stairwell that led to the Astronomy tower. _What was he doing going up there?_ he wondered.

He found the boy just standing on the platform, doing nothing in particular.

"Potter," he called disapprovingly.

The insolent brat didn't even acknowledge his existence. _Like father, like son_. "Potter!" he said, this time more forcefully and more impatiently.

The boy slumped to the ground, leaning against the railing behind him, and now Severus could see that there was something very wrong with Potter.

He was as pale as a ghost, more pale even than Severus knew his own skin was. His body was trembling and when Severus spoke to the boy, Potter glossed over him with unseeing eyes. As he moved closer, he could see how near to tears the boy was. This made Severus very uncomfortable, he never dealt with crying individuals very well. He simply chose to avoid it if at all possible. It was made all the more discomforting with the fact that, in all honesty, Severus never thought Harry Potter would be someone he would ever see on the verge of tears. Those glassy orbs now looking at him desperately that reminded him so much of Lily on the face of the man he despised almost more than anyone else unsettled him. He wasn't even sure whether or not Potter was aware that it was he, Severus Snape, standing before him.

"What has happened?" he asked more softly, not wanting to startle the boy. If he didn't know better, Potter was in shock. But what would have caused the normally robust teen to react this way was beyond him.

Still, the boy said nothing. "Potter," he said more urgently, squatting down and grasping the boy's shoulders, "you must tell me what happened."

Potter tried gallantly to push the words out, but all Severus discerned was a mess of babble: "I — I saw… He…"

_He_. That could only mean one person, for it was only _he_ that could inspire another to utter such an ordinary pronoun so fearfully.

"Voldemort. A vision? What? What did you see?"

His breathing became shallow; the tell-tale sign that the boy was about to cry leaving Severus in amazement. Who else would act out of character, he wondered. First, the Granger girl slapped a fellow student, and now, Potter was crying. What next? Would that idiot Weasley start batting his eyelashes at Severus in class?

But, instead of spilling tears, Potter expelled very different contents onto the bricked floor.

_Lovely_, thought Severus, clearing away the bile with a swish of his wand.

Now Potter finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

_Why couldn't have one of the other teachers found Potter like this_? Others who would be much better equipped to handle a situation like this.

Severus waited uncomfortably until Potter was finished. The famous scar smarted red against the boy's still pale skin. His hair in dark contrast to his skin was disheveled and slicked with sweat. He began to shiver, but this time it was from the cold. Of course, Potter didn't think to grab a robe or consider the prospect of getting chilled from exposing his dampened body to the night air, but Severus supposed he couldn't blame him in his state of distress.

As patiently as he could he asked again, "Potter, what did you see?" He had contemplated performing Legilimency to get the information that could prove important, but decided that would be unwise in Potter's vulnerable condition. It could lead to unpleasant consequences for the both of them. Better not to corner a wounded animal, thought Severus.

Calmer now, Harry explained in a shaky voice, "He killed them, he killed them all… Both of them, even the — they're both dead."

"Who? Who has died?" he pushed, shaking the boy's shoulders enough so that Potter's glasses slid down the bridge of his nose a centimeter or two.

Potter let out a few silent tears and shook his head in despair, "It's not fair," he lamented. Severus could see that he would get nowhere trying to get something out of Potter. "Would it be better for me to see it, if you're having trouble explaining it?" he asked clinically.

Potter's eyes widened a fraction, but eventually he nodded his head slowly.

He entered Potter's mind as gently as he could; it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. When he withdrew, Potter was shaking more vigorously, but was otherwise comatose. He was gearing into a different stage of shock, Severus understood. First, the emotions became so entwined and overwhelming that your body didn't know how to respond, and you felt the grief tearing at your core. Then you would exhaust yourself to the point of being utterly spent, continuing to proceed through the motions listlessly, as if one of the undead.

Undoubtedly, the boy had never seen such wanton brutality. Severus himself had witnessed countless atrocities in battle and in the service of the Dark Lord. Even though he was used to it, he was by no means completely desensitized by it. And this was a particularly vicious attack by the infamous dark wizard. Luckily, Severus accosted Potter before he could something incredibly foolish. He did have quite the knack for attracting trouble.

"Come on, Potter. To bed," he said.

But the boy shook his head resolutely, clutching onto Severus' sleeve desperately, as if that would prevent his professor from sending him back to bed.

But Severus had allowed enough liberties for one night. "Up, Potter. We cannot possibly stay out here all night. Nor is that something I think either of us desire."

Potter was still in shock. It was with great strength of mind that Severus did not sigh or roll his eyes. The boy would have to be helped back to his dormitory. He grabbed Potter by the forearm and helped him stumble down the stairs and through the castle to the Gryffindor common room. But before they could reach it, Potter stopped up short. He was beginning to test Severus' patience. "Potter — !"

"No, I don't want to — what if I… No," he stammered incoherently.

It was then that Severus realized that Potter would not want to go back to sleep. He was afraid. He was afraid of what he might see should he allow himself to fall asleep. Severus had many unkind words he would use to describe Potter, but fearful was not one of them, he would begrudgingly admit. Nevertheless, this is an event he should have anticipated. But this fearful Potter made him nervous and greatly unsettled him for some reason.

Severus did have a solution. But he would have to go down to his office to retrieve it. He didn't want to have to drag Potter along with him, but he did not want to leave the boy unattended; he would surely wander off. There was not much of a choice.

Once they reached the dungeons, Severus found what he was looking for and placed the vial of potion in Potter's hands. He was still unresponsive. "This is a Dreamless Sleep Potion. You will not need to worry about the visions if you drink this." Potter nodded his head numbly and drank the potion. Well, at least that was something, Severus thought.

But the boy was clearly not in any condition to navigate his way back to his dorm, he decided, if the boy's body language — or rather lack of body language — was anything to go by. He would have to guide the boy back all the bloody way up to his rooms. _The things I do for you_, he expressed in his mind, thinking of Lily. He stood up and gripped the boy's shoulder, none too gently, and directed him once again in the direction of the Gryffindor section of the castle.

"Password?" grunted the Fat Lady huffily, presumably a bit cross at being awakened. Not that Snape would blame her, except she was a portrait for Merlin's sake!

"Potter?" he prompted. The boy was still too despondent. "No matter, I am a professor, and I am sure you are aware this particular student does indeed belong here. Now open up."

"The password," she demanded haughtily, crossing her arms.

But Severus was at his rope's end_. You are not the only one who has had their sleep disrupted!_ he thought; his shift had finished a while ago. "You will open this damned door at once!" He realized he was shouting at a painting, but he was too ornery and too weary to care.

"Hmpf."

It was with great relief that Severus left Potter at the (now open) portrait hole. He supposed the boy had the wits to at least make it up to his room. If not, then he was sure the floor of the common room was friendly enough. Minerva might have volunteered to tuck the golden boy in, but Severus would certainly not.

. *** .

Harry could vaguely discern what was happening. Someone, Snape he thought… yes, Snape… was steering him to where? Oh, the common room. His feet seemed to move of their own accord — at least if what he was seeing was correct, for he certainly couldn't feel them. But he somehow made his way to his room and soon the potion took its effect and he fell asleep atop his bed without pulling back the covers and was immersed in a wondrously dream-free slumber…

When Harry woke up, he barely recollected any of the events of last night. But he was dreading class with Snape that day. Once seated, Harry was ill at ease, and for some reason couldn't bring himself to look at Snape. He was embarrassed by what transpired the night before, hopefully he had not behaved too pathetically. He couldn't really remember. But he hadn't even been able to walk back the dorms under his own power…

Snape, on the other hand, acted as if nothing unusual took place save for glancing at him a little more frequently than was normal.

After class, (which seemed to last an eternity to Harry), he lagged behind. "Go on ahead, I'll catch up," he told his friends. This seemed to confuse Ron, while caused Hermione to look a little worried. "Go on," he urged again when they made no move to leave.

He walked up to the front desk, which seemed to surprise Snape a bit. When Harry just stood there awkwardly, however, his surprise was quickly replaced with impatience.

"Well?"

Harry swallowed. "I — thank you," he blurted.

"What?" snapped Snape. He seemed genuinely confused. Well, he wasn't going to make this any easier on him, was he? Unless it wasn't Snape? No, it had to be. Harry was sure he remembered that much.

"I just wanted to thank you," Harry said deliberately, forcing himself to slow down, "for… helping me… the other night." He still couldn't bring himself to look Snape in the eyes, but his curiosity got the better of him. When he looked up, Snape appeared to be stunned, but quickly hid it with his mask of impassivity, which frustrated Harry a little. Why was it that Snape could read him like an open book, but was able to hide his own emotions so adeptly so that Harry could only guess what it is he was thinking?

There was an awkward pause in which Snape seemed to deliberate what to say. "It is my job to look after my students," he said, being slow and careful with his words. This seemed an odd statement to Harry. He hadn't been in any danger, really. Escorting him to his rooms was understandable, but giving him the potion to help him sleep certainly hadn't been necessary. "But you didn't have to give me —"

"You required a potion which I happened to possess, nothing more, Potter," he stated more agitated this time. Why was he being so touchy? Harry was only trying to thank him. Snape always made things more difficult than they had to be. Harry believed a simple 'you're welcome' would have sufficed. Why was Snape deflecting?

"Alright," Harry said somewhat perplexed.

There was another uncomfortable moment of silence.

"If that is all…"

"I was wondering… if I could have some more of that Dreamless Sleep," Harry murmured in a low voice. If truth be told, that had been his main reason for coming up here, though he was grateful for the help.

Snape considered him pensively, "You should not have another dose."

Harry knew it! He knew Snape was going to say no, or perhaps he wanted him to beg…

"The concoction can be exceptionally addictive." Severus knew this all too well. He himself took extra precaution not to consume the potion too frequently. "It could ruin your pattern of sleep and even disrupt your waking hours if the problem became too severe."

_Oh._

"Okay, then… well…" Harry was almost said thanks again, a habit more than anything else, but thought better of it for it seemed that for some bizarre reason, Snape didn't appreciate being thanked. "I guess I'll see you tonight, then?" Their Occlumency session was scheduled for tonight.

Snape blinked.

It seemed that Snape wasn't going to say anything further, so Harry tentatively started leave, surreptitiously looking back at Snape in some confusion. Either Snape was acting weird or Harry had overestimated the man's social skills. Still, now that it was over, Harry supposed it hadn't been too painful. Although, maybe a bit more discomfiting than it needed to be. _But that wasn't _my_ fault_, Harry thought stubbornly.

So, Potter did have manners after all, thought Severus. He tried to keep his surprise from showing. As Potter stumbled through his awkward goodbye, Severus found himself in the unique position of having no response. It wasn't as if they hadn't exchanged pleasantries before, but never as casually as Potter just had a moment ago.

He wasn't used to being thanked. And certainly not by the golden boy.

. *** .

It had been two weeks since the night of Harry's vision, and despite his determination to learn Occlumency, he still hadn't made much progress. He had redoubled his already dogged efforts, but to no avail. It was extremely difficult not to become frustrated. He didn't even care when Snape lost his patience with him (which he did — a lot). _What more could he do_?

"Potter," said an exasperated Snape, "You need empty your mind of all thought, and focus on Occluding me from your mind."

"I know!" claimed Harry, also losing his patience — patience he knew was vital to his success, but he was being pushed to the edge and feeling an increasing panic that he simply did not possess the ability to perform Occlumency, just as some people couldn't whistle or snap their fingers. He dearly wished to express this fear but that would only serve to irritate Snape even more. He would become furious anytime Harry uttered anything vaguely similar to the words, 'I can't'. But the thought of seeing another vision like the last… it terrified him.

"I _am_ trying, but nothing's working."

Then Snape did something he had never done before during their sessions together. He sat down at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Snape would yell at him, insult him sometimes, and become very aggravated with him, but never had he become discouraged as Harry sometimes did. He would go on shouting instructions with an almost savage ferocity and fervor that Harry tried to match.

So, this was it. Snape was going to tell him there was no way he could ever teach him Occlumency and that Harry had failed, once again, and that he would just have to get used to having Voldemort in his mind. Snape was finally going to give up on him.

Snape exhaled deeply, "I know you're trying, you just have to learn better."

Harry stared at him.

Better? _Learn better_? _That_ was his grand solution? Now there was no doubt in Harry's mind that Snape believed that he could not learn Occlumency. "Maybe you need to teach better!" he retorted, his temper flaring. He knew his mistake immediately after the words left his mouth. Snape was staring him down murderously. But Harry believed he had done a very fine job of keeping his temper in check for the most part, his nerves were already frazzled as it is. Still, he knew what he said was out of order. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean that. I know you're trying, too. It's just — "

"Silence, Potter," snapped Snape. He had no time for Potter's clumsy apologies. But Severus allowed himself to ponder over Potter's words. At this point, there was no veracity in claiming that the blame lied solely with one party. He had assumed the task of teaching Potter Occlumency, and so far was failing miserably. But perhaps not all hope was lost. Maybe he was going about this at the wrong angle.

"Perhaps you are right," he finally said, completely taking Harry by surprise. "Understand, I am new at this as well. I have used Occlumency for many years, yet I have never before attempted to teach another to learn this discipline. I will think on this matter, and we will test a new technique next week."

"Wait, we're done?"

"For tonight, Mr. Potter."

When Harry hesitated, Snape said, "We are not giving up, we are simply… rethinking our strategy."

This made Harry feel a little better. "Alright," he said.

"Very well," said Snape by way of dismissal.

"Goodnight, Professor."

Making his way up to the common room, Harry sincerely hoped that he would soon be as optimistic as Snape was or at least seemed to be, as odd as that sounded. He wondered what new theories Snape would come up with. It occurred to him as he gave the Fat Lady the password that this had been the first time the two of them had managed to hold civil conversation during an argument.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 12:

Harry's lessons with Snape continue, and it becomes increasingly urgent for Harry to master Occlumency. Things become more contentious between Ron and Hermione than ever; meanwhile, Harry is facing his own dilemma in the department of romance. Also of concern is Malfoy's recent behavior, and his potential involvement in the foul-play of another student. Harry is determined to get to the bottom of the matter, and takes matters into his own hands…

_His thoughts were interrupted by a shrill, piercing cream. Harry looked behind him, and what he saw next was a haunting, peculiar sight. Katie Bell, his Quidditch teammate, was lifted up about three meters up into the air and clearly in torment. Her friend started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles in an attempt to tug her back onto the solid ground. Harry and everyone else rushed forward to help, but she fell to the ground in an instant. There, she lay, writhing and thrashing about in the confines of some unknowable, nightmarish phantasm. _

_Katie's friend was in a panic, lamenting, "I told her to let go of it! I told her something was wrong!" As she babbled incoherently in the background, Harry looked around them; there was no one._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] I thought it was weird a first year player would be made captain. Malfoy makes more sense, and this way, he couldn't really skip the match, so that's why I changed that from canon as well.

[2] I have no idea whether Crabbe and Goyle advanced in any of their classes, but they had to have or else they would not be in school any longer (or forever if they have to keep retaking the same class over and over). My guess is that they would have passed Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology where a lot of group work is done. Apparently, they are retaking their OWLs in DADA according to Snape in HBP, I would assume maybe Flitwick might be nice enough to let them try again, too. Anyways, I'm assuming Crabbe and Goyle would be in Herbology with the other NEWT students. (I believe all four Houses group together if Slughorn's class is anything to go by.)

[3] Totally made that title up. It's supposed to be an Arithmancy book, a subject which Hermione purportedly loves.

A/N:

I thought it would be more realistic if Ginny gradually got better, rather than being the best from the get go. Even playing with her brothers, experience is what makes you good in a sport. Harry has naturally instinct, and his job has more to do with luck, speed, eyesight, reflex, and some tactics. Plus, he's only competing against one other person, rather than playing with a team. It's almost like there's two separate games happening on the pitch concurrently. Admittedly, throwing a ball on a broom probably doesn't take too much skill, it's not like trying to dribble a soccer ball or basketball, but it does take some skill. Anyhow, Katie's played on the team for six years, Ginny doesn't have that experience. But she's talented, so it wouldn't take long for her to become one of the best Chasers at Hogwarts. Another thing, I really think 150 points is too much for catching the snitch. It makes what all of the other team members do irrelevant. She (Rowling) just did that to make Harry even more important [honestly, as if being Harry Potter, 'The Boy Who Lived', 'The Chosen One', wasn't enough. Sheesh ;)]. If it were up to me, I'd probably make it worth 50 points or so. Or radically change the game so it's timed to be 90 minutes, and each time the Seeker catches the snitch he or she is awarded ten points. Or perhaps twenty, I don't know. Honestly, the game would probably be better and more entertaining without a Seeker. Just add some more Chasers. I just think it's weird that one person is so isolated from the rest of the team. We Muggles may not be able to do magic, but our sports are better, and the entertainment is definitely more varied. I imagine music's the same way. And no computers? Kind of ridiculous. So take that wizards! It gives me some amount of smugness to know that I could probably start talking about organic chemistry, differential equations or quantum mechanics or something and make Hermione feel like an idiot. Not that I don't like Hermione, I just think it'd be rad if she thought I was smarter than she is because I know stuff she doesn't. You could throw in Schrödinger's cat for the shock factor as well… Maybe change it to Schrödinger's House Elf instead… I know, I'm evil 3:)

I changed the potion scene a bit. I don't see any reason why Harry wouldn't have let Hermione be in on the whole scheme. I suppose Hermione's a terrible actress, but Ron was a little too busy being nervous. It also took him an irregularly long time to figure out he had 'taken' the potion. I mean, I know he's not the brightest, but even I don't think he's that dim. Anyways.

I hope Snape isn't too OOC here. I don't think he is, but I can see why people might think so. Just to clarify, when he is reassuring Harry I don't think that is his purpose, at least not consciously. I just believe that he would be very determined to see this through, because that's the type of person I think he is. He wants to accomplish every single assignment that he takes upon himself. And when Snape says 'Voldemort' that isn't a mistake. I think in that instance, saying 'the Dark Lord' would make him seem eager rather than urgent. I would think that he would naturally say Voldemort, being the brave man that he is, but my guess is that something happened to him — maybe he said it accidently in the presence of Voldemort and was punished and tortured — that made him say the Dark Lord at all times so that he never risk doing that again, you know, make it a habit. But no one is perfect, and I believe he has ample reason to break his persona here.

Same thing with Harry. I didn't want to be too graphic, because I know I don't enjoy that kind of thing, it was just enough for you to get the picture that Voldemort's murder of the woman and her child was pretty gruesome. Harry was in shock, and I don't think that makes Harry weak. He might not have been acting the way he normally does, but I think the circumstances allow for this. I mean, he reacted by passing out and shivering just hearing his parents' death from the dementors. And while these deaths were not of his parents, not only did he see it, but he felt the thrill of bloodlust when Voldemort killed them. (Not sexual lust, by the way; I know that's typically what the word 'lust' is associated with, but I was taking the more general sense of the term i.e. a desire or longing. My language draws an analogy to it — that's what Voldemort gets off to — but not in a literal sense just to be clear, more in the psychological sense. Does that make sense?). And it was much more graphic and he killed an innocent child. Also, I think this is much different than when he was the snake. There's something more disturbing about being human and attacking and murdering someone than being a snake. Something that is much more sinister and perverted. And even then, he was quite shaken. So I don't think his reaction is unreasonable. However, that is my opinion. I hope you all believe what I have done and consequently, how my characters reacted are within reason.

So… it's still a long one, but shorter than the last one. Maybe the next one will continue this trend.

Signing off,

fanster


	13. A Wild Christmas

DISCLAIMER: Once again, Harry Potter does not belong to me.

I think I'm going to start posting new chapters on Saturdays now instead. School is getting really crazy for me right now and I have four midterms coming up, so my next update may have to wait for an extra week. Not sure yet. Again, I apologize for any typos or mistakes; I pretty much just have to post these without having the time to proof-read one last time. Anyways, sorry for the late update. But again, I'm going to move them to the weekends instead. I'm just pretty stressed out with school right now which I'm sure most of you can understand.

Get ready, and buckle up. This is going to be another long one.

* * *

Chapter 12

A Wild Christmas

Winter had arrived. The weather remained wet for most of November, but Christmas was upon them and white snow decorated the castle's crown. Hagrid's hut reminded Harry of a gingerbread house and the castle grounds became a velutinous, mother-of-pearl carpet. Snowflakes danced on the swirling winds in the vivid ultramarine blue sky. The soft silence of the white blanket of snow descended upon the castle as if the only conversation befell at nightfall when the vast, icy, crystalline sheet winked and glistened in response to the pale twinkling stars in the night sky; the still hush seemed peaceful to Harry.

The castle was festive, as ever, in preparation for the winter holidays. The suits of armor were once again caroling in the hallways, garland adorned the banisters, Professor Sprout had holly growing in the school gardens, and the twelve Christmas trees took residence in the Great Hall where the enchanted ceiling reflected the wintry weather outside. There was even one section of the third floor corridor where bewitched snow that dissolved immediately upon contact fell in light showers (this was great because you didn't get wet, but unfortunately, you couldn't make snowballs with it). Harry tried to get into the Christmas spirit, but was held back by his fear of what he might see at night in his dreams. He thought back to his lesson with Snape, when they had tried to work on a different approach.

"_I have devised an idea which will hopefully spark your capability to successfully prevent me from breaching your mind."_

_Harry waited, paying close attention to what Snape would say next._

"_I have come to the realization that the visual of the invisibility cloak is far too passive for you. You are more predisposed towards aggressive action, often throwing yourself into the fray as they say, and rather recklessly so most of the time I might add. I would like you to picture in your mind that you are attacking me, much as you would in an ordinary magical duel."_

_Harry's first reaction was that this was a not-so-subtle jibe at his propensity to rush headlong into the investigation of mysteries on his own but then realized at this point, they were just trying anything that might work. And it sounded like a good idea at any rate. _

"_Alright, I think I can do that."_

It worked for some time before Snape was finally able to break his defenses. But he had lasted much longer than he'd ever done before. This was a very encouraging sign and Harry gained a newfound vigor, hoping to improve upon his performance. They tried again, and again. But he wasn't getting any better, he had thought in frustration. He soon came to the realization that, in fact, he was getting worse as they progressed. Soon, both of them became aggravated, only serving to make things even worse. Snape tersely instructed Harry to continue to perfect his technique; they would try again once Harry had practiced some more.

But it wasn't working and Harry had two more visions since then like the first. The second one included an old man and his wife — Voldemort didn't even let their dog go free. The third one was of a man that could not have been much older than Harry. The young man tried to put up a good fight, and his bravery allowed his younger siblings get away, but he paid dearly for it. He was tortured mercilessly; it took hours, but eventually he begged for death and Voldemort, of course, obliged quite happily. Harry didn't want to ask Snape again for the Dreamless Sleep Potion, but he also didn't want Madame Pomfrey asking questions — or Slughorn for that matter. He supposed Hermione would be able to whip one up, and he probably could on his own if he really wanted. She might suggest that the Prince might be of more help than her anyways; she could become quite cross whenever Harry broached the subject of Potions. He was also worried about what Snape said about addiction. He needed to learn Occlumency, and soon. When he'd had the visions, he didn't sleep anymore that night or much the night afterwards. Harry was actually trying to avoid sleep as much as he could; he got very little sleep and made excuses to stay up late. He would leave his homework until very late at night and sometimes would get up early to go running in the morning. This would have been a great idea except he knew this was exhausting him and at some point this would become a severe problem, but his fear of witnessing more death kept him going.

His fatigue had become so bad that McGonagall had to take points from him in Transfiguration when he dozed off one day. She seemed a bit surprised — sure he wasn't always as attentive as he should be in class, but he had never fallen asleep. Harry rather thought she had been a touch offended ("I apologize if my explanation of conjuration was not riveting enough to hold your interest, Mr. Potter," she had said ironically). He apologized and didn't complain when she took points away. Somewhere in the back of his head he acknowledged that he deserved this punishment for being so useless at Occlumency. Ron had taken to elbowing him in the ribs if he started to drift off, for which Harry was very grateful — although it might not appear to be the case if Harry became grumpy immediately after being prodded in his side. To his friends, he explained that he had just been busy with everything, but Hermione knew better, she knew that he was trying to avoid having anymore nightmarish visions. Harry wasn't sure why he was pretending she thought otherwise. He was so tired, he was barely keeping up with his schoolwork and he knew that it was subpar. This was manifest in the gradually declining marks he had been receiving lately. For the time being, he had even given up his pursuit of Malfoy, having lost interest. The quest from Dumbledore to retrieve the all-important memory from Slughorn lay forgotten as well (not that Slughorn would be especially partial towards Harry lately, seeing as he had botched up potions while falling asleep over his cauldron. Even the Prince hadn't been able to remedy the disastrous results on that occasion. Hermione hadn't even had the heart to glean any satisfaction from it).

Things took a turn for the worse when he, very unfortunately, fell asleep during Defense Against the Dark Arts. Ron tried to nudge him awake, but not before the ever-observant Snape noticed. Snape came to stand behind him and lean in to quietly to inform Harry to see him after class and that his antics had cost Gryffindor house ten points. With some trepidation, Harry made his way to Snape's desk when the class period ended.

Snape waited patiently for the last of the students to exit the room. Malfoy saw them and looked loath to leave, but turned away without a backward glance bearing an unreadable expression upon his face. This barely even struck Harry's interest in contrast to his near obsession a week ago.

Once Malfoy along with everyone else had left, Snape closed the door with the flick of his wand. Harry waited for his chastisement to come. "Mr. Potter, you are aware that your current stratagem of employing the use of sleep deprivation cannot continue indefinitely?" he began sarcastically.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered somewhat blearily.

"You will be of no use in our lesson today," he reprimanded irritably. He sighed in exasperation and disappeared through the door behind his desk. Harry assumed that he was to wait for him to return. When he did, Snape was carrying a small bottle filled with purple liquid in his hand. "Drink this tonight. We will resume our lesson tomorrow and I expect you to be well rested so that you will be prepared to exert the energy necessary to apply a sufficient amount of focus and effort." Tomorrow was going to be a long night. "Yes, sir," Harry answered.

Snape gave him a curt nod and indicated that he should leave, obviously not wanting to speak to Harry any longer than necessary. But Harry was amazed he didn't receive detention or receive worse punishment for falling asleep in his class. McGonagall had even been harder on him for that. For some inexplicable reason, this greatly disturbed Harry.

Harry soon found out why. Snape might not have given him detention, but the exertion he was putting Harry through in their lesson might as well have been detention. In fact, Harry suspected that this is exactly what Snape had intended. He was pushing Harry harder than ever before, and was merciless in his instruction.

Harry was soon worn out, and knew that none of this was contributing to his learning Occlumency.

"Was that Petunia that you blew up?" asked Snape in slight amusement.

"No, it was my Uncle's sister," said Harry wearily, annoyed that Snape was choosing to mock him now. "Wait… how do you know my aunt's name?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "From your memories, of course," he replied simply. Harry thought it odd that Snape would commit that information to memory. Or perhaps, Snape just had a really good memory. It wouldn't surprise Harry; Snape certainly seemed to remember everything he had ever done incorrectly during their lessons and exactly what he had been doing wrong.

Then Snape said, "I believe that we have exhausted this particular strategy and can safely say that it is ineffective." Harry had to grit his teeth to prevent him from saying anything he would later regret. _Really, you think so?_ he thought scathingly.

"I have contrived an alternative in the event that this difficulty should arise."

_Thanks, so much for telling me this now_, Harry thought sardonically.

"Now what I want you to do is to view your memories as victims. I am the attacker, the invader, and you must protect your thoughts — you must save them from the danger that I pose to them. You alone have the ability to 'rescue' them, as it were."

Harry thought about what Snape was saying, and it reminded him eerily of something Hermione had told him before he went off on his futile attempt to save Sirius at the Department of Mysteries… "_Don't you think you have a bit of a-a saving-people thing?"…_

"Miss Granger would be correct. I am attempting to capitalize on your hero complex," Snape commented with a bit of a smirk.

"Hey! You —" In Harry's ruminations, Snape had accessed his mind without Harry even knowing it. "I do not have a hero complex," said Harry heatedly. Snape raised his eyebrows and merely replied, "We shall see." He took his place at the front of the room. "Now, shield these memories from me; do not allow me to access your thoughts. And keep in mind the technique I have just relayed to you."

Harry nodded and forced himself to clear his mind and focus; he was willing to try anything at this point.

"Legilimens!"

Harry tried listening to what Snape had told him to do. He pictured a protective magical barrier shielding his memories. Wherever there were cracks in his armor, he quickly moved to fix them. He felt one memory slipping away and for some reason, the image of striking the unwanted presence with the sword of Gryffindor came to mind.

Snape pulled out and grimaced as he clutched at his forehead. "Crude, but effective."

Harry was amazed. "Did I-did I just keep you out?" he dared to ask.

"It would seem so." Harry got the distinct feeling that Snape was resisting the impulse to roll his eyes at the obvious remark, but he chose to ignore this. "Yes!" he exclaimed. It had worked! Harry felt his earlier anger towards Snape quickly dissipate to become a fierce sense of jubilation and relief. He felt like running around and shouting for joy, but thought Snape would mostly likely not appreciate that. Instead, he settled for wearing what he supposed must be a stupid grin on his face.

"Yes, you were able to keep me out this time, but let's see if you can replicate those results before you become too overjoyed."

But even this could not abate Harry's elation. He knew he should be clearing his head of all emotion, but he thought he could use this positive energy to his advantage. He tackled Snape's mental assaults with newfound enthusiasm and was pleased to discover that, excepting a few blunders on his own part, each and every time, he was able to block Snape from his mind. He was very pleased indeed. So much so that when Snape told him that he'd had enough for the day, Harry insisted on continuing the lesson. Snape complied but after a while, forced him to stop. "This is a difficult discipline. It takes time and energy to learn. Too much assault on your mind will erode your senses and put your mind in a vulnerable state. Already, you are having a more difficult time keeping me out despite your technical improvement. We will continue next week. Remember to practice, and perhaps we can move on. You still have much to learn and incorporating subtlety in your approach is something else we need to work on. But you have made progress and we will continue to build upon that in future lessons."

Harry nodded, but couldn't help smiling. Even Snape looked satisfied — or at least, not completely dissatisfied. Harry wasn't sure if it was possible for Snape to look or be happy in a way that wasn't at least somewhat Schadenfreudian. Either way, it was much better than the frustration or disappointment he was used to. He was so much further along than even just last week — improvements that Harry had begun to believe would never be forthcoming.

"Why didn't you tell me this earlier? It's much easier this way. What method do you use?" Harry asked looked at him as if he had just said something very peculiar. But this didn't bother Harry, Snape was just strange that way; he was not a normal person. Harry had long since resigned to the fact that not everything Snape said or did would necessarily make any sense to him. After a while Snape finally answered. "I find that setting my objective to eluding the invader and keeping my memories and thoughts hidden works best for me." Harry nodded. Of course, it must be a spy thing. "I have never made use of the technique which seems to work for you which is why I did not recommend you try it until now. Believe me, if I could have thought of this method earlier, I would have begun using it then." There was a momentary silence until Snape said, "That will be all for tonight, Mr. Potter. You are dismissed."

"Night, sir," Harry half-yawned and turned to leave. Snape rolled his eyes at the lack of propriety. Potter had departed almost cordially which Snape chalked up to Potter's gleefulness and relief in the progress he had made. Lord knows Severus himself had been awaiting this moment for far too long.

Once outside, Harry began to make his way up to the Gryffindor common room, but not before doing a kind of skip jump and allowing himself to let out a small whoop of victory that echoed in the empty hallways. Had Harry been able to see Snape, he would have seen Snape roll his eyes once again and perhaps might have noticed the almost imperceptible quirk of his lips in mild amusement.

When Harry reached his room, almost immediately upon changing he collapsed on his bed and fell asleep without taking his glasses off. Exhausted from all of the hard work, he fell into a sleep so deep that he didn't even remember any of his dreams upon waking. This got him into thinking about questions of how he could actually use Occlumency in his sleep or if simply clearing his mind beforehand was sufficient enough. Snape had told him that normally, clearing the mind would indeed be adequate to guard against potential intruders, but with Harry's connection to Voldemort, this could be different, as was often the case for Harry. Snape said that practice and repetition until Occlumency became second nature was the key when Harry brought the subject up in a later lesson.

This seemed to prove true when one night Harry felt something brush against his consciousness during his slumber and his mind automatically seized upon the techniques he used during his lessons with Snape and the presence then faded away. Harry continued to build upon the method which Snape sarcastically dubbed the 'hero method' (to Harry's annoyance) and integrated some of what Snape himself used as well. With each lesson, Harry got better and better and Snape no longer held back. Each time, it took Snape longer to get in. Gone were the horrific visions. Gone were the insights into Voldemort's mind. Harry no longer felt fear before sleeping and slept as soundly as he ever had since Sirius' death. With this change, he also saw his grades significantly improve. McGonagall even commented on his advancing aptitude in Transfiguration. His accomplishment in Occlumency and the consequent positive outcomes was enough to put Harry in an almost giddy mood, so much so that when he received yet another invitation from Slughorn, he couldn't find it within himself to be even the slightest annoyed — it might even be a good chance for him to try and get that memory again. Hermione much approved of this change in attitude, while Ron was a bit less enthused.

Today found Harry sitting at breakfast, listening to Ron pestering Hermione about his Defense essay. Hermione had finally begun to speaking to Ron, although it was hardly ever without hostility or barely contained disdain in her voice. The present moment was no exception.

"I'm not going to copy your essay," Ron was explaining to Hermione, "I just want to take a look at it. I don't even know where to start; Snape assigned a really nasty one this time." Harry didn't necessarily disagree with that. It was a particularly tricky prompt, but it was on a subject that he enjoyed, and so he had already finished his essay and was optimistic enough to believe he might receive a decent grade on it.

"I'm stuck on the part on comparing the effectiveness of counter-jinxes and anti-jinxes," Ron continued. "Oh, and defending against hexes. I wrote about counter-curses, but those are for curses. The book doesn't say much about hexes."

"Ron," Hermione chided, "If you didn't do the outside research, that's not an excuse. Why don't you ask Lavender?" she asked too casually. Lavender, Harry noticed, looked like she did not appreciate being ignored at the moment. Ron lowered his voice and spoke in undertones, saying, "She's not smart like you, Hermione. Well, no one is." But his flattery did not help his case this time. "It doesn't sound like you've put much effort into it," she responded unwaveringly.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron pleaded, "You've always helped me with my schoolwork."

"I suppose I could take a look at it," she said long-sufferingly.

Ron beamed. "I knew you'd help me out, Hermione." Hermione just rolled her eyes as Ron began to pull his paper out from his book bag. "Besides," he continued, "I'm sure you've already helped Harry."

"Actually, no, I haven't," Hermione told Ron. Ron looked at Harry in confusion to which Harry merely shrugged. "Harry hasn't even asked me to help him with his essay. Come to think of it, you haven't come to me with questions on hardly any of your homework at all," she finished, now speaking directly to Harry.

Ron snorted, "Oh yeah, that's right. Homework must not be as hard for you now that you and Snape are such great pals." He demonstrated his apparent disgust by sticking his fork in his eggs rather moodily. Harry was somewhat indignant that Ron assumed that his improvement in class was less likely to be due to the fact that just maybe Harry could be a good student if he applied himself a bit more. "You know why I'm doing better in class, Ron. I'm finally getting enough sleep."

"Yeah, but you were getting sleep before and you still asked Hermione for help," Ron pointed out.

Harry thought about it and then said, "Maybe it's the Occlumency."

"What does that have to do with any — ?"

"That could be it," Hermione said, interrupting Ron. "Besides the obvious goal of stopping your visions, it would make sense that increasing your ability to clear your mind of thought and emotion makes for good concentration skill-building. All of that Occlumency practice probably helps you to focus more."

Harry nodded. "And I am not 'great pals' with Snape. I just… I've gotten used to him enough that it's not so uncomfortable around him anymore," he said considering his words carefully. "I don't particularly like him, it's more like I'm familiar with him is all."

"Besides," added Hermione, "I was talking about _all_ of Harry's classes, not just Snape's. Yes, I've noticed Snape has been insulting Harry less now, which I would've thought you would believe is a good thing, Ronald; you know how unfair he's always been to Harry." Here Ron opened his mouth to object but Hermione overrode him."But you can hardly say that Harry is his favorite student. Harry's just trying harder now, something _you_ ought to be doing, Ron," added Hermione.

"Well, I don't think — " began Lavender, but Ron cut her off with a hand signal and a sort of shushing noise. She now looked extremely offended.

"Alright, alright, I didn't really mean that I think you made nice with the greasy git!" he exclaimed, lifting his hands in front of himself, palms outward in defense. "I _am_ glad that he's been… well, not _as_ bad lately. But you have to admit, the sudden change is pretty weird. I mean, after everything he's done to you?"

"I dunno, Ron," Harry replied exasperatedly. "There's a war going on, we can't afford to fight amongst ourselves any longer."

"So you definitely think he's on our side then?" questioned Ron. Harry silently berated himself for walking into that one so easily. He hesitated. "I'm still not one-hundred percent sure, but he's had plenty of opportunities to kill or hurt all three of us. He's saved my life on many occasions and he's helped me to learn Occlumency. I doubt all of that is necessary to use as a cover for being Voldemort's spy," he added a touch too defensively (although quietly so that Lavender and everyone else excluding himself, Ron, and Hermione could not overhear).

"Well what _did_ you write about for the essay then?" said Ron, changing tactics and the subject, which Harry did not find disagreeable.

"I wrote about the effects of the Imperius curse, how to fight it, and the technique's similarities to both Occlumency and the Patronus charm," Harry answered in between bites of his cereal.

"I've never really thought about it that way. It sounds intriguing," Hermione said, looking impressed. This time there was no mistaking Ron's irritation."Well, you'll probably get a better grade than me anyways," he said, his mood growing more sour. Only Harry's maturing patience kept him from responding in kind.

"Well, that'd probably be about right," retorted Hermione, unable to restrain her exasperation. "You know, you're being really unfair Ron. I really think Snape is being more objective in his grading this year. I mean, on the last paper I happened to see Malfoy's mark, and he got a 'P'." Ron momentarily forgot his resentment, saying, "A 'P'? Malfoy? He really only got a 'P'? Ha!"

_Malfoy? _thought Harry. _Malfoy! _At the mention of Malfoy, and with the food on the table that he knew came from the house-elves, he had remembered his scheme to keep tabs on the Slytherin blond. "Oh!" he exclaimed, smacking his forehead and standing halfway up in his chair, knocking aside his orange juice in the process. Some of the surrounding people looked at him askance.

"What?" asked Hermione.

Harry glanced around the table and racking around his brain for some sort of explanation. "Nothing. I just realized that I forgot something I needed to write in my essay." Hermione gave an approving and empathetic nod, while Ron gave him a look that clearly showed he thought Harry was going mad. Without uttering a word, Harry flicked his wand, and the juice sprang back into the glass which moved to stand upright as if nothing had ever happened. Hermione had been right. It hadn't taken him long to get a hold of non-verbal spells since their last lesson on it. It could, he thought, be very handy when he got in a duel, but now, he had more pressing matters to consider. Excusing himself from the table, he got up to go to the common room. He would have just enough time before class to take care of this.

When he got to the empty sixth year boys' dorm, he wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Remembering what Dumbledore had done, he attempted to summon Kreacher. He snapped his fingers, but nothing happened. He supposed that Dumbledore had used some sort of complex summoning charm that few but he could perform with such ease. "Kreacher?" he said uncertainly to the room. There was a loud crack, along with the sounds of much scuffling and squeaking. Two house-elves — one in a sweater, a tea cozy and socks, and the other donning only a loincloth — were rolling around in the middle of the floor between Harry's and Ron's beds. It was this particular moment that Ron choose to walk through the door. "What's going on?" he said. It took Harry a couple of moments to decipher that for himself. To add to the clamor, Peeves the poltergeist appeared above the din and shouted, "Hey, I was watching that Potty!" Peeves cackled with glee. "Punchy, bitey, jabby, chokey! Kicky, scratchy, tweaky, pokey!"

The noise racket was so chaotic it threatened to disorganize Harry's very thoughts. "STOP!" he yelled. Everyone, even Peeves, turned to look at him. Ron went to go pull the elves apart, and soon Peeves continued on to ramble his offensive and curse-filled refrain. As Harry knew he would never control him, he simply thought, _Langlock_. Peeves clutched as his throat and before disappearing, threw a couple of obscene gestures Harry's way, owing to the fact that his tongue had just glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

"Nice one," Ron said appreciatively. "That was another one of the Prince's hexes, wasn't it?"

Before Harry could reply in the affirmative, the two house-elves went at it again.

"Kreacher can say what he likes about his master, oh yes, and what a master he is: a friend to filthy Mudbloods. Oh, what would poor Kreacher's mistress say — ?"

Exactly what Kreacher's mistress would say, they never found out, for it was in that moment that Dobby decided to sink his knobby little fist into Kreacher's mouth; the blow knocked out a couple of (admittedly rotting) teeth.

"Kreacher will not insult Harry Potter in front of Dobby, or Dobby will shut Kreacher's mouth for him!"

"ENOUGH!" Harry shouted again. He had also placed the Muffliato charm on the room so that no one would hear the ruckus and barge in. Again the elves stopped what they were doing, and before either of them could do anything else Harry decided to step in. "Kreacher, I forbid you to fight or hurt Dobby. Dobby, I can't order you not to fight Kreacher, but —"

"Dobby is a free house-elf and he can obey anyone he likes. And Dobby will do whatever Harry Potter wants him to do!" claimed Dobby proudly.

"Master called me?" Kreacher said impatiently.

"Yes, I did." He checked again to make sure that no one was coming and said, "I've got a job for you — both of you," he added looking at Dobby realizing that he could have two scouts out to search for Malfoy's secrets.

"Kreacher will do whatever Master asks," said Kreacher as he dropped into a mockingly low bow, "because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher is ashamed to have such a master, yes — "

"Dobby will do it, Harry Potter!" squeaked Dobby, overriding Kreacher — deliberately Harry thought. "Dobby would be honored to help Harry Potter!"

"Alright… I want you to follow Draco Malfoy." Ignoring the look of surprise and exasperation on Ron's face, Harry continued, "I want to know where he's going, who he's meeting, and what he's doing. I want you to track him around the clock."

"Yes, Harry Potter!" Dobby said at once, his tennis-ball sized eyes shining with excitement. "And if Dobby does it wrong, Dobby will throw himself off the topmost tower, Harry Potter!"

"There won't be any need for that," Harry said hastily.

"Master wants me to follow the youngest of the Malfoys?" Kreacher asked slowly, suspicious. "Master wants me to spy upon the pure-blood great-nephew of my old mistress?"

"The very same," replied Harry. "And you're forbidden to make contact with him, communicate with him, reveal my plans, or otherwise help or assist him in any way. Do you understand?" he commanded, anticipating Kreacher's treachery and attempting to prevent it. For the next moment or two, Kreacher struggle to find a loophole in Harry's instructions. Harry waited patiently, and then Kreacher bowed deeply once more saying, "Yes, master. Even though Kreacher would much rather serve the Malfoy boy…" It was with satisfaction and relief that Harry heard the bitter resentment in Kreacher's voice, for it meant that he hadn't been able to discover a way to thwart his directives.

"Well that's settled then," said Harry. "I'll want regular reports, but make sure I'm not surrounded by other people when you contact me, other than Ron and Hermione, of course. And don't tell anyone what you're up to. Just stick to Malfoy like stink on garbage." [1]

. *** .

When Harry told Hermione of his plan, she also gave him a look of exasperation, although she hadn't seemed as surprised as Ron had. But Harry had more pressing matters he wanted to discuss with Hermione. Now that he had learned Occlumency, his mood was so much lighter, it was as if a dark cloud had been lifted. Without its influence, he could consider possibilities that previously hadn't occurred to him. One such example was Slughorn's upcoming Christmas party. Normally, Harry wouldn't consider it something to look forward to, but he wanted to invite Ginny. He had finally admitted it to himself that he liked her, and he wanted to advance their relationship to something beyond friendship. He contemplated asking her to Hogsmeade, but he wanted Ron's permission first. To go out with his little sister without notifying him would be akin to betrayal. And with a new girlfriend and praise that still showered upon him occasionally from his spectacular Quidditch performance, Ron would hopefully be in a good enough mood to acquiesce. Tomorrow, he would ask Ron during their visit to the Hogsmeade village. Harry thought, that under the influence of a little butterbeer and perhaps after a trip to the Quidditch shop, Ron would be agreeable and indeed think it quite a grand idea for Harry to date his younger sister.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," complained Harry to a smug looking Hermione after he told her of his intentions. "Well, what do you think? What should I do?"

"I just knew you liked her."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah; but what should I do?" he asked, starting to panic a little.

"Harry," Hermione said in a stern voice, "you and Ginny are at liberty to see whomever you desire."

"Yes, but I don't want Ron to rip my head off."

"I'm quite sure he wouldn't mind if you went out with her. He might object at first simply because he is her older brother and therefore protective of her; but I think, overall, he would be happier to see you with Ginny than anyone else."

This gave Harry an immense sense of relief. Ron had sometimes hinted at the possibility he wouldn't mind, but it was still a complicated and somewhat awkward situation.

"Just tell him how you feel about her and that you wanted to let him know because you felt that he should be aware of the situation and also that you value his friendship," she advised on the way to Defense Against the Dark Arts."But you'd better hurry up and make up your mind."

"Why?"

"Because I was just in the washroom and overheard a number of girls plotting to get you to ask one of them to Slughorn's party. Romilda Vane was one of them, and she looked like she meant business. They were talking about slipping you a love potion in your drink."

"Well, then why didn't you confiscate them or… punish then? You're a prefect!" Harry said in a raised voice, beginning to panic.

"They didn't have the potions with them," she scowled, "they were only discussing tactics; they weren't actually doing anything wrong."

"Easy for you to say," Harry scoffed.

In class, Snape was reviewing their progress thus far by having the class demonstrate all that they had learned in duel. He paired them off at random, and then every ten minutes they would switch. Currently, Harry was paired with Neville. Neville had improved tremendously from all of his time in the DA, but he was still susceptible to being clumsy whenever Snape criticized him or loomed near in intense scrutiny. Neville still hadn't quite gotten the hang of non-verbal spells, and automatically Harry set about trying to help explain the concept to Neville. During this time Neville said, "Harry? You got invited to Slughorn's party, didn't you?"

"Yes," Harry answered uncertainly, wondering why Neville was asking him this.

"_I_ was invited! Can you believe that?" Normally, talking during Snape's classes was a foolhardy idea, but with all of the commotion, their conversation went unnoticed. Snape, Harry saw, was presently berating Seamus for accidentally setting fire to Parvati's robes.

"Why wouldn't you be invited?" Harry asked. "You helped me at the Ministry last year, and you're the best student in Herbology."

Harry's words seemed to bolster Neville's confidence, but then panic seemed to overtake him and he asked nervously, "But who am I supposed to invite?"

"Whoever you want."

"Who are you going to invite?"

Harry could feel his cheeks going red. "I don't know, I'm not sure yet," he managed to mumble. But Neville didn't seem to notice, wrapped up in his own troubles. "No one's going to want to go with me," he said miserably.

"That's ridiculous, Neville," Harry said sternly. "And if anyone does say no, it's their loss."

When Neville didn't respond Harry suggested, "Why don't you ask Luna?"

Harry felt the beginnings of irritation prickle him when Neville looked at him as if he were crazy. "What?" he asked. But before Neville could say anything further, Harry saw Snape move out of the corner of his eye, and so he retook his position assisting Neville to master non-verbal spells. It was belatedly that Harry realized that the activity assigned to them was to duel, not non-verbal magic. He half-expected Snape to stride over and remind him that if he were to help his opponent in battle, he would surely die, but Snape surprised him by walking elsewhere without a word. Either Snape had not seen what he was doing (unlikely, for it seemed almost nothing escaped his notice), helping classmates to learn was an acceptable use of this time, or Snape didn't deem it important enough to address — indeed, he was walking over to Ron who was covered in a greenish, slimy goo that Goyle had produced.

But Neville's question reminded Harry of his own dilemma, and the unease that had previously been curtailed by engaging his mind in the lesson returned.

It was Saturday, and time seemed to accelerate to the point where Harry would attempt to ask Ginny out. His apprehension must have shown, for Hermione gave him a pointed look from across the dining table at breakfast. He could barely stomach the piece of toast in all of his nervousness. The butterflies he was feeling made the flutterings he had remembered feeling around Cho seem faint in comparison. His feet seemed to walk of their own accord across the gate leading to the village of Hogsmeade.

In his nervousness, he bumped into Hermione. She didn't mind, but seemed slightly exasperated with his antics. No matter how much she insisted that Harry had no cause for worry, the pricklings of anxiety still beleaguered him. It was just the two of them together for the time being; Ron was off with Lavender and they would meet up soon at the Three Broomsticks. Ron had supposedly told Lavender that he was going to go with Harry to have "guy time" at the Quidditch Supply shop while she gossiped with her girlfriends. Hermione had wasted no time to inform Harry that Ron's plan was ridiculous after he left.

It seemed like no time before Hermione and Harry were due to meet Ron. Harry could feel his face becoming warm, and his hands were sweating; he exhaled after he realized he was holding his breath. Harry was content to let their conversation take its natural course, but after a few pointed looks from Hermione and Ron began to notice, he figured his procrastination could continue no longer, particularly when mention of Slughorn's Christmas party came up (Harry knew that Hermione had done this on purpose to make it easier for him to transition into his spiel). "Yeah, about that…" Harry trailed off. Ron looked at him strangely and seemed to want to say something but held his tongue, which was fortunate for Harry or else he might abandon the whole idea entirely. "I was thinking of asking… You see, I want to…" he paused to try and overcome his stuttering mess of a sentence, but it was no use. "This might be weird for you, but… I-I was going to — I want to ask Ginny out," he finally blurted; he could feel the heat coming off his face, which he knew must be beet red, in waves. To Harry's surprise, Ron let out a sigh of relief. Seeing Harry's confusion Ron said, "Blimey, Harry. For a moment there I thought… I thought you were going to ask _me_ out or something." Harry sat in stunned silence and for the first time since Ron started dating Lavender, Hermione laughed openly and genuinely with the three of them assembled together.

Before Harry could answer, Ron suddenly became sober again as if just realizing what is was Harry had said. "My sister?" he asked quietly, almost to himself and looking into space. Harry could speak past the lump in his throat so he just bobbed his head helplessly. Ron folded his arms and seemed to mull the idea over carefully while Harry waited nervously on baited breath. It took what felt like an eternity to Harry before Ron finally opened his mouth and said, "As long as you don't hurt her."

"Oh, come on, Ron. It's Harry."

Harry started at the sound of Hermione's voice; he'd forgotten she'd even been present.

Ron was staring at Harry in a way he never had before — almost as if he were sizing Harry up. Finally, he broke into a smile. "I always figured you two would get together eventually. And now I don't have to worry about Ginny dating some buggered up bloke like she usually does."

"They weren't bad, well, not all of them. Most of them were perfectly normal people, you're just overprotective, Ron," countered Hermione. "Anyways," she added hastily to forestall any argument, "Harry and Ginny will be just fine."

Ron shifted uncomfortably and uttered something indistinct. Harry felt himself becoming more uncomfortable as well. "That's assuming she'll even say yes," Harry stated anxiously.

Hermione gave him a placating look that did nothing to make him feel better. "Harry. Of course she will."

Harry sincerely hoped so.

The three of them left for the pet shop where Ron assured them Ginny would likely be. Harry made note for future reference (if it was even necessary, he thought). But Harry found himself bumping into Ginny far earlier than expected. It seemed her and her friends were headed into the Three Broomsticks.

"Hi, Harry," she said cheerily.

"Hey —"

But apparently she was not the only one who had decided to pay the popular pub a visit.

"Ronnikins!"

Many of the surrounding people laughed at the moniker as Lavender threw her arms around Ron. Hermione meanwhile, stood back and gave the two a wide berth and acted as if they weren't there as was her custom. Harry could sense Ron's embarrassment as he saw his best friend's ears turn a magnificent shade of red, but Lavender seemed not to notice; Harry wondered at how she couldn't feel the heat coming from them. It provided a nice distraction, that is, until Harry glanced at Ginny who was giving Ron and Lavender (who were now kissing in full view) a disgusted look. She looked at Harry, shook her head at their behavior and laughed. Harry couldn't help it, he laughed, too. It was as if they were sharing some secret joke that only they knew. Just maybe, Harry thought, with Ginny in a good mood…

"Ginny?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"You know the Slughorn party?"

"Oh, yeah. I was invited to that."

Harry felt his stomach sink. What was he going to do now? He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that it was a few moments before he realized that Ginny was still talking.

"… but apparently, Slughorn was more impressed with my bat bogey hex than upset."

Wait… that meant Slughorn must have sent her an invitation. She hadn't said if anyone had asked her. At least, he hadn't thought she had made any mention of it. Hoping against hope that she hadn't, he plunged right on in before he lost his nerve and asked, "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me… to Slughorn's party."

Ginny looked taken aback for a moment. "Me?" she asked.

He nodded his head and then managed to croak out a 'yes' so there would be no mistake.

She beamed. "Of course, Harry. I'd love to go with you."

Harry let out a half-laugh, half-sigh of relief. "Great," he answered, now smiling, too. "Who did you hex?" he asked out of curiosity. Ginny gave him a mischievous smile that made his insides churn. "Pansy Parkinson. She was going on about how she thinks you're a goner, so I decided to let her know how I felt about it." Harry was very pleased with the fact that Ginny had defended him in such a way.

Hermione had come over, seeing that Harry had been successful (as she knew he would), and stated, "It's about time, really," with a smile.

"Oh, you two are going out?" asked Lavender. Harry wasn't sure about their status, so he looked to Ginny for an answer. She glanced back and then told Lavender, "Yes, I believe we are." Harry nodded his head eagerly, avoiding Ron's eyes. Lavender clapped and bounced on her toes reminding Harry of Ginny had when she had joked about being elated at hearing that Hermione and Malfoy had supposedly kissed in Snape's class. "That's too adorable. You guys'll make a great couple!" she added whilst giving an uncertain sidelong glance at Hermione, who resisted the temptation to roll her eyes, the act having not escaped her notice. Lavender was hardly proficient at being subtle. Apparently, all of the girls in their year thought Harry and Hermione were bound to be an item.

Harry spent the remainder of what was in his opinion, a wonderful afternoon with Ginny. Hermione spent a little time with them, but then claimed she had other errands to take care of; but Harry knew that she was just trying to give him and Ginny some time alone. Ron and Lavender, thankfully, went off together long before that — their presence would have made the situation awkward in more ways than one.

They were all going to meet at the gates before returning to Hogwarts. Once Harry and Ginny arrived at the gate, he saw that everyone was already there. Hermione was standing off to the side; Harry hoped that she hadn't been lonely by herself. She relaxed visibly upon spotting him, and he could tell she was trying — and failing — to suppress a grin at seeing Harry leading Ginny by the hand. Turning a little red, he returned the smile; Ginny hadn't seemed to stop smiling since he had asked her out. It made her, Harry thought, even more beautiful than usual. Harry reddened even further when Ron also noticed, but he didn't relinquish his grip. It was natural for Ron to be protective of his little sister, Harry rationalized, and he would eventually get used to it. Besides, Ginny would probably not react kindly to Harry being timid around Ron.

The group walked in relative silence, and Harry felt exceptionally uncomfortable. He sincerely hoped that Ron and Lavender's relationship would soon come to an end because he couldn't ever picture this particular group becoming overly friendly together.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shrill, piercing cream. Harry looked behind him, and what he saw next was a haunting, peculiar sight. Katie Bell, his Quidditch teammate, was lifted up about three meters up into the air and clearly in torment. Her friend started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles in an attempt to tug her back onto the solid ground. Harry and everyone else rushed forward to help, but she fell to the ground in an instant. There, she lay, writhing and thrashing about in the confines of some unknowable, nightmarish phantasm.

Katie's friend was in a panic, lamenting, "I told her to let go of it! I told her something was wrong!" As she babbled incoherently in the background, Harry looked around them; there was no one.

"Don't touch that!" he exclaimed suddenly as Katie's friend, he thought her name was Leanne, bent to the ground where the necklace was. "It's cursed." Ron and Hermione looked at him with surprise. He recognized it from Borgin and Burkes. It was the same necklace Malfoy had been eyeing during his visit to the shop when Harry followed him in his invisibility cloak.

"What happened?" he asked the girl while Hermione and Ron went to check on Katie. Harry couldn't understand Leanne as she continued her frantic babbling. "How is she?" he asked Hermione.

"She's physically fine as far as I can tell; she's breathing fine and she has a pulse." This filled Harry with a great sense of relief. "But she's unconscious."

"Do you have any idea what it could be?"

Hermione shook her head, disappointed that she didn't know, not from irritation at the lack of knowledge, but because it was information that Katie sorely needed.

Right, well it was time to do something besides sitting around, Harry thought.

"Ron, can you get her to the hospital wing?" he asked. Ron nodded and leaned over to lift Katie. Cradled in his arms, she appeared to be sleeping; her eyes flittered beneath her eyelids rapidly as if in a bad dream. Realizing that the extra weight would slow Ron down, Harry added, "Maybe you should run ahead, Ginny, and let Madame Pomfrey know what happened. And try not to let anyone see, I don't want people to panic." Most of the students were probably outside of the castle, but the last thing this situation needed were rumors or curious bodies crowding the way for Ron. Ron and Ginny, along with Lavender left immediately; Ginny ran on fleet feet, her vibrant red hair flying behind her.

"Hermione," Harry turned to her next. She snapped her attention to him with a stoic demeanor, but her eyes betrayed her worry. "You need to go get someone. We have no idea what this is, or what it's capable of," he said as he squatted down to cautiously wrap the necklace in his newly removed cloak. "Go find Dumbledore, or McGonagall… or even Snape if you can't find them. Anyone. Anyone who can help." Hermione nodded to show she understood. "Show this to them," he said, handing the necklace to her very carefully. "Make sure you don't touch it. Be careful." He supposed the warning went without saying, he just wanted to be sure.

Turning to Leanne now, he looked at her steadily, trying not to look overly worried and said in what he hoped was a calm voice, "Now, I need you to calm down — take a deep breath if you need to; there you go — and tell me exactly what happened. Anything you can tell me might help Katie."

She nodded her head an eventually relaxed enough to recount what had happened."We were at the Three Broomsticks when she got up to use the washroom. When she came back she was carrying that-that _thing_," she said with distaste. "At the time, I couldn't tell what it was because it was wrapped up. I asked her what it was and where she got it — she hadn't brought anything with her when she went in," she explained. Now that she had settled down, she seemed anxious to tell her story. Leanne spoke with increasing speed, so much that Harry could barely understand what she was saying. "She didn't answer me and when I pressed her, she got defensive. All she would say is that she needed to go to Hogwarts. I told her not to take it to the school, but she wouldn't listen… It was really weird." Leanne shivered as she reminisced. "It was like she didn't even know who I was. I couldn't get her to respond, and when I told her to get rid of the package, she said some really nasty things. Katie never does that. It caught me off guard. But even when she was being unkind it was still like she was some sort of zombie or something. I knew something was terribly wrong, and I knew it had something to do with the package." Harry was rapt with attention. He, on the other hand, didn't think Katie's strange condition had anything to do with the necklace. At least not directly. The necklace was cursed and you had to touch it for it to take its effect. What happened then was clear, and it had nothing to do with the odd behavior Leanne had just described. What's more is that none of them had reacted that way in close proximity to the necklace. It was possible that it was cursed specifically for Katie, but Harry didn't think so. He had his own suspicions, but did not voice these as the implications would only serve to frighten Katie's friend even more. And he wasn't one-hundred percent positive.

Leanne continued. "It turns out I was right. I tried to stop her, but the package ripped… You saw what happened next…" she finished. Harry nodded, more to show that he had listened rather than in agreement. Meanwhile, his own thoughts raced in his head. "Thanks for telling me," he said. "It could help a lot." But one thing was still bothering him. "Just one more thing." Leanne nodded. "Did Katie ever mention _why_ she was going up to the school? Or what she was doing?" Maybe it was to take it to Malfoy.

Leanne looked hesitant. "I can't be sure, but I think she said something about a door."

"A door?" Harry inquired, flummoxed. Leanne nodded her head again.

"I'm not sure if that means anything. Even if it does, I don't know what or how that could help. There are hundreds of doors at Hogwarts."

Harry agreed. That piece of information was next to useless. Unless it meant the Room of Requirement? He had to think on it some more and tell Ron and Hermione his findings. But first, they needed to find Hermione and whoever she told about the incident. "You're right, it probably doesn't mean anything," he told Leanne. "Let's go find Hermione, you're probably going to have to tell Dumbledore."

They ran to the school, and Harry's guess was correct. Dumbledore was waiting for them and as they approached he simply said, "Follow me." Walking at a brisk pace, they soon arrived at the hospital wing. Hermione was already there. "Poppy, if you are agreeable, I think it would be preferable to keep this incident quiet for now." She quickly went to close the partition to the room and then resumed evaluating Katie. "I think it would also be wise to inform Professor McGonagall, as she is Katie's head of house. If you wouldn't mind fetching her for me, Hermione, I believe she is in her office. And Ron, I would like you to find Professor Snape as well." They both began to leave, Ron looking as if he would rather not have the assignment of 'fetching' Snape. Suddenly, they heard the door burst open, and soon the curtain was ripped back and in entered McGonagall, nearly bumping into Hermione. "One of the ghosts said that a student has been injured," she said worriedly.

Dumbledore nodded gravely and stood back to allow her to view Katie Bell lying on the bed. "Oh, no. What happened?"

"That," said Dumbledore, "is something I believe we all wish to know. But first, now that we have Professor McGonagall, that still leaves us one short."

"I'll go get him," said Hermione. Ron seemed grateful to be relieved of the duty. After a few tense moments, Snape entered the room with Hermione, who was slightly out of breath, trailing behind. "You called for me, Headmaster?" Snape said evenly.

"Yes, Severus. As you can see, poor Katie, here, is in dreadful condition. The object responsible for her current state," explained Dumbledore, "is this." He produced the necklace in question which was still wrapped in Harry's cloak. Snape showed no reaction, but Harry could practically see the cogs and gears turning in his mind. He took the cloak and necklace from Dumbledore and held it gently in his hands. After murmuring a few indiscriminate words and tapping it with his wand in various places he set it down carefully upon one of the side tables and asked, "How did she come into possession of this object? It is clearly cursed with dark magic, but exactly what, I am not sure." He then turned his attention to Katie and Madame Pomfrey stood aside to allow him to examine her.

"Would any of you be so kind as to explain?" requested Dumbledore. Leanne was silently sobbing next to Katie's side, so Harry recounted what he knew, the others, including Leanne, supplying information where necessary.

"How could this happen?" exclaimed McGonagall at the story's conclusion.

"You said before she came in contact with the necklace she was behaving strangely?" Snape asked Leanne. She seemed hesitant to answer him, so Harry stepped in. He was not at all surprised that Snape had caught on to that particular aspect. He was sure that Snape had come to the same conclusion that he himself had.

"I think she was under the influence of the Imperius curse," he said. All but Snape and Dumbledore looked at him with alarm. "Everything that Leanne mentioned — how Katie didn't seem to know what was going on around her, her blank expression, her focus on one goal — it reminds me of the Imperius curse."

"As it does me," agreed Dumbledore. "The question then is who, and why?"

The room became suddenly tense. After a while Leanne mourned, "She-she was _Imperiused_? And I didn't even notice?" She covered her eyes in anguish.

"Many people would not have guessed that she was under the Imperius curse. It is understandable. I would not expect you to recognize it immediately. Harry is all too familiar with the Imperius curse and its effects. Furthermore, we are not even sure if this is the case. We are glad that you were not also hurt and indeed, your knowledge might have placed you in greater danger. Without your help, we most certainly would not have been able to deduce as much." Her sobs subsided somewhat and she sniffled as she nodded her head. Dumbledore was always good at reassuring people. Harry himself felt less anxious when he was around.

"But where would she get such a thing?" asked McGonagall.

Harry knew it was time for him to tell them what he knew. He sincerely hoped no one would ask him_ how_ he knew. "It's from Borgin and Burkes." McGonagall looked as if she did want to ask him how he knew where the necklace came from, but thankfully, refrained from doing so. He tried not to stiffen as Snape paused in his ministrations and snapped his eyes over to Harry to scrutinize him.

"That should make the curse significantly easier to identify and, therefore, remove," Dumbledore said to Snape.

In response, Snape stood and replied, "That gives me a good idea of what it could be — Borgin has never been terribly creative — but I would first like to verify my suspicions before applying the countercurse."

"But of course," said Dumbledore, inclining his head. "Just a moment," he added as Snape went to grab the necklace. Dumbledore transferred the necklace to a plain cloth and handed Harry his cloak. "I believe you'll be wanting this?"

"Thank you, sir," Harry said quietly as he took the proffered cloak. Snape looked at Harry one last time before departing, and Harry automatically put up the mental defenses around his mind. He didn't trust Snape not to look into Harry's own thoughts if he thought it might serve his purposes, whatever they might be.

"Please let me know if you learn anything else," Dumbledore told the group. They all communicated their consent. With one last look at Katie, and with sad eyes, Dumbledore left, too.

"And let me know how she is doing, will you?" McGonagall asked Madame Pomfrey. "Of course," answered the mediwitch. "Just terrible," she added, shaking her head.

Harry looked at Katie, too. She seemed terrified. How horrifying it must be to literally be trapped in your worst fears and nightmares. He clenched his fists as his sorrow boiled into anger. He needed to figure this out, and punish the one responsible.

They returned to find the common room empty but for a couple of people, as everyone was still at Hogsmeade or enjoying the castle grounds. Leanne had stayed by Katie's side and when she came back, she went straight to the 7th year girls' dormitory. Sequestered in a private corner, the four of them talked about what happened and who might be behind it, but admitted that they could do no more than make a rough speculation. Harry still didn't speak on his theory yet, and remained quiet for the most part which everyone else seemed to notice. Ginny then excused herself claiming she needed to get caught up on some homework and left for her dormitory as well.

Harry was lost in his thoughts. He trusted Ginny, but he wasn't sure how much he should tell her. And only Ron and Hermione apart from himself and Dumbledore knew the true contents of the prophecy. The more he thought about his theory, the more it made sense, and the more convinced he became that he was right. But he needed evidence.

"Harry?"

He was roused out of his thoughts at the sound of Hermione's voice.

"Hmm?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, it's just…" Ron and Hermione looked at him expectantly. He sighed. "I think it was Malfoy."

Ron raised his eyebrows while Hermione furrowed hers. "I saw him ask about it at Borgin and Burkes," Harry explained, "he wanted Borgin to save it for him, I think."

Hermione looked thoughtful, however Ron said, "But Leanne said that Katie got it from the girls' bathroom. Malfoy couldn't have been in there."

"She came back with the necklace, she didn't necessarily have to get it there," Harry pointed out.

"Yes, but, why would he give the necklace to Katie?" questioned Hermione.

"I don't know… I just wish I knew what Katie was trying to do," said Harry. "All Leanne told me was that she thought she heard Katie say something about a door."

"A door? That's it?" Hermione said disappointedly.

"Well, that's not much to go on, is it?" said Ron.

"Harry?" Hermione questioned when the distant look returned to his eyes.

"Thinking?" asked Ron.

"No, waiting," was all Harry said in reply.

"Waiting? For what?" Ron said.

There was a fifth year girl in the common room, and after a few minutes she too left for the girls' dormitories. At last, they were alone. It was time. "Kreacher."

"Kreach — ?" There was a loud pop and Kreacher appeared in front of the three of them in the middle of the room. Both Ron and Hermione reacted with surprise and after they recovered, Hermione asked, "Harry? What is this all about?"

Harry opened his mouth to explain but was interrupted by another crack.

"Dobby was just telling Kreacher that we should report soon, Harry Potter sir," said the affable House-elf, having just appeared.

"Just Harry's fine."

"Once Kreacher was called, Dobby decided to come along." Here he looked at Kreacher resentfully. "Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter so they can make their reports together. Dobby has been helping too, sir!"

"Harry."

"We have followed the Malfoy boy as you instructed, Master," Kreacher said dolefully. Hermione's expression changed to one of recognition as she remembered Harry's idea.

"And?" asked Harry, laying to rest the unnecessary use of Dobby's honorifics for the moment.

"Draco Malfoy is a very bad boy!" Dobby exclaimed. "He — " Dobby struggled to get the words out, and anticipating what was to come next, Harry grabbed Dobby before he could hurt himself. "Thank you, Harry Potter. Dobby still has a hard time speaking of his old masters."

"Why has he been bad? What has he been doing?" Harry pressed.

"Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood," croaked Kreacher, "He—"

"I don't need an ode to Malfoy, has he been going anywhere he shouldn't be?" Kreacher remained silent. Harry was getting impatient. "Kreacher," he said sternly, "I order you to tell me."

"He has been going to the Come and Go Room," Dobby supplied.

"The Room of Requirement!" Harry exclaimed, startling Ron and Hermione again. "Why didn't I think of that before? That's why he disappears off the map!" he explained. "Have you found out what it is he does in there?"

"No, Harry Potter, that is impossible," Dobby said sullenly, no doubt disappointed that he could not help Harry on that point.

"Kreacher. Do you have any idea what he could be up to? Tell me the truth."

Kreacher snarled before answering, "No, Master. I do not know."

"Well, that's a start. Thank you. You've done brilliantly Dobby."

Dobby's eyes shined with joy.

"Don't forget Kreacher," Hermione said pointedly.

"Kreacher doesn't need filthy Mudbloods to —"

"That's enough," Harry interjected sharply."I forbid you to say that word anymore… That will be all. You can go now."

Kreacher gave Harry a look of deepest loathing before departing.

"You really think Malfoy has something to do with this?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Yes, I do. Mark my words, he's up to something."

. *** .

Harry later found out that Hermione was right. Romilda Vane had cornered him and offered him a drink of gillywater. He politely declined, and when she gave him chocolate cauldrons filled with firewhiskey, he noted to himself not to eat them, and tossed them into his trunk.

Harry also hadn't found a way to find more out about what Malfoy was up to. Despite all of his efforts, he couldn't get into the room or get the room turn into what it did for Malfoy no matter how he phrased his needs. He decided he would have to find another way to get in. He tried sneaking in behind Malfoy in his invisibility cloak, but that hadn't worked either. He thought about occupying the room whenever he saw Malfoy heading down there to impede his progress, but Harry didn't have the time and Malfoy was there a lot. He would somehow have to trick Malfoy into going into the room when Harry was there, but to do that Harry had to know what the room changed into for Malfoy. Harry wasn't sure how to solve this conundrum, and Ron and Hermione weren't so keen on helping him in this matter.

He put this out of his mind, however, with Slughorn's party coming up. Everything was going great between Ginny and him, but this was their first real sort of date and he didn't want to mess up.

He had nothing to fear. They had a great time. Neville had asked Hermione to go as a friend and so the four of them enjoyed themselves. Slughorn's parties, Harry had to admit, were not as bad as he had originally expected. The food was good and Slughorn often brought interesting people to talk with them.

Things got really interesting, when none other than Malfoy decided to gate-crash the party. He admitted as much, but Harry was doubtful. Filch had caught him uninvited, and although Slughorn jovially proclaimed the more the merrier, Malfoy looked like that was the last thing he wanted to do which Harry thought very odd indeed if Malfoy's intention to 'gate-crash the party' was true. Even more strangely, Snape, who Slughorn had forced to make a momentary appearance, seemed to be extremely agitated with Malfoy. Maybe no one else noticed, but Harry had upset Snape enough to know the signs. "I would like a word, Draco. Follow me."

"Now, don't be too harsh, Severus. It is the holidays, after all," Slughorn said.

"I am his Head of House and I will decide how to deal with him, harshly or otherwise," he replied curtly. Malfoy followed resentfully and, his curiosity piqued once more, Harry decided to follow them in his invisibility cloak which he kept on his person at all times at the suggestion of Dumbledore. He was exceedingly grateful for that bit of advice now. "Hey, where'd Harry go?" asked Neville, looking around. Ginny looked confused as well, but Hermione, knowing fully well what Harry was up to only seemed exasperated and a little anxious.

Taking care not to bump into anyone, Harry made his way to the exit. There was no one to be found in the hallway; but they couldn't have gone far. He put his ear next to a couple of the doorways, and eventually voices emanated from one of the keyholes.

"… last time, I didn't have anything to do with it!" Malfoy was shouting.

"I should hope not, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it."

"Who suspects me?"

"That is not important. The important thing is that you are being careless; you cannot afford mistakes."

"I didn't do it! Bell just must have made enemies with the wrong person."

"Is that so?" Harry could barely hear Snape mutter. Then from Malfoy, "Stop it. I know what you're trying to do."

"Hmm, so you have learned a new skill. Aunt Bellatrix's tutelage no doubt? As it stands, I am obviously not convinced of your innocence." Harry had no idea what they were talking about. But if it involved Bellatrix Lestrange, it probably wasn't something innocuous.

"Why are you always bringing this up? I've already told you, I don't need your help."

"If the evidence of your so-called plans is anything to judge by, then I would argue that you need an inordinate amount of help." Wait, Snape was offering to _help_ him?

"What is it to you, anyways? Why do you care so much? I'm not an idiot, I know exactly what it is!"

"Keep your voice down," Snape warned acidly. "I simply wish for your success. Punishment for failure is not —"

"I know what it is! I just don't need _your_ help. You don't care what happens to me, your interests are purely selfish."

"You are being ridiculous."

"I —"

"However," Snape overrode, "I cannot force you to see reason. My offer of assistance will continue to stand."

"Great, thanks," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Can I go now?"

Harry wasn't sure if Snape had agreed or if Malfoy just left, but either way, he had no warning before the door was ripped open. He had barely just enough time to get out of the way before Malfoy ran straight into him. It was a good thing, Harry reflected, that the hinges were placed on the inside of the door. Snape followed a few moments later, and was obviously not in the mood to rejoin the party (not that Harry thought he ever would be). What he heard disconcerted him, for it was in line with many of his suspicions, and he wasn't sure whether or not Snape was truly offering to help Malfoy, or simply fulfilling his role as spy. He did seem genuinely concerned, something that Harry would not usually associate with the man.

He rejoined the party in Slughorn's room, but was distracted by his thoughts. He told them he had gone to the bathroom, which earned him a reproachful glance from Hermione. The rest of the night passed shortly. He bade Ginny goodnight in the common room, but Hermione approached him before he could head up to bed. "Harry," she said disapprovingly, "you were paying hardly any attention to Ginny after you came back, I don't think that escaped her notice either. You really need to get over this obsession with Malfoy."

"Yeah, well, from what I just heard, I'm almost certainly right about him," he said defensively. He was upset that he hadn't realized how distant he had been. "And I have something important to tell you and Ron. Hold on, I'll go get him."

"Now?"

"Yes, why not? The common room is empty for once."

Hermione acquiesced, but not without folding her arms with barely contained impatience first. Soon, the three of them gathered around the dying embers of the fire and Harry relayed all that he had overheard.

"Well of course Snape's going to say those things, Harry. No one is supposed to know he's a spy," Hermione pointed out skeptically.

"You think I don't know that, Hermione?" Harry said in frustration. "Sorry, it's just…" he said in response to Hermione who had raised her eyebrows at Harry's tone. "You weren't there. You didn't hear how he was like."

"I dunno, Harry, it just seems like there are more important things to worry about than Malfoy," supplied Ron.

"Even if you're right Harry, then Professor Dumbledore probably already knows. And I think he's perfectly capable of handling Malfoy on his own."

"Well obviously not enough to keep him from cursing Katie Bell. You guys are acting like it's no big deal! Whatever he's doing, he obviously doesn't care if other people get hurt in the process."

"Of course we're concerned," replied Hermione. "But you have to admit, Harry, you're getting too involved. You should be getting that memory from Slughorn instead of spending all of your time poring over the Marauder's Map."

He was going to admit no such thing. Tomorrow night he had another meeting with Dumbledore. He hadn't gotten the memory, but he felt that the potential danger was more urgent. Besides, Slughorn was proving to be difficult to get any useful information from. Harry had been hoping that with enough to drink and with Harry's success in potions, it might be enough to get Slughorn in a telling mood, but he had forgotten at the party after Malfoy made his appearance.

The next day, he was standing in front of the familiar gargoyle once again."Jelly slugs," he told it. "Enter," called Dumbledore when Harry reached the top, but as he went to open the door, it was wrenched open from inside. There stood Professor Trelawney. "Aha!" she cried, pointing dramatically at Harry as she blinked at him through her magnifying spectacles.

"So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office!"

"My dear Sybill," said Dumbledore in a slightly exasperated voice, "there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said —"

"Very well," said Professor Trelawney, in a deeply wounded voice. "If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it… Perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated…" She pushed past Harry and disappeared down the spiral staircase; they heard her stumble halfway down, and Harry guessed that she had tripped over one of her trailing shawls.

"Please close the door and sit down, Harry," said Dumbledore, sounding rather tired.

Harry obeyed, noticing as he took his usual seat in front of Dumbledore's desk that the Pensieve lay between them once more.

"Good evening, Harry."

"Good evening, sir."

"Professor Trelawney isn't happy Firenze is still teaching, then?" Harry asked. Apparently, they both shared Divination classes now.

"No," said Dumbledore, "Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside the castle. She does not know — and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her — that she made the prophecy about you and Voldemort, you see."

Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh, then said, "But never mind my staffing problems. We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly — have you managed to complete the task I set you at the end of our previous lesson?"

"No, sir, "Harry responded. "I attempted to get the memory a few times, but Slughorn wouldn't budge."

"I see," said Dumbledore eventually, peering at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles and giving Harry the usual sensation that he was being X-rayed. "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"

"Well, I…" Harry began, not knowing what to say next.

"I understand that you have been busy with Occlumency. But Professor Snape tells me that you have mastered the basics, of which I am glad. But I had rather hoped that you would have returned your focus to the task I set you."

With Malfoy and Ginny and everything, he had almost forgotten all about it. He decided to give the truth, or at least, a version of it. "To be perfectly honest, sir, I have been preoccupied with what has happened to Katie."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said grimly, "a grave situation indeed. However, I do not see how this would prevent you from obtaining the memory."

"I've just been thinking about what she was trying to do, who did it, and how. I'm worried that something bad could happen. Something worse than what has already happened," Harry tried to explain.

"I understand. But I believe I tried to impress upon you the importance of this particular memory. Without it, I'm afraid there isn't much point in continuing our lessons."

"You mean even today?"

"I think so, the information in that memory will be important for the other memories I have collected."

Harry could tell Dumbledore was disappointed. Harry felt guilt prickling at him and said, "I'm sorry, sir. I should have given it higher priority. I allowed myself to become side-tracked and I shouldn't have."

"Thank you for saying that, Harry. It happens to the best of us."

"So we're done?"

"I sense that there is something you wish to discuss."

Harry hesitated. "Well it's just that…" If Harry could piece together what had happened, then surely Dumbledore had. "I think it was Malfoy, sir. I think he was responsible for what happened to Katie."

"And why do you think that?"

Harry explained what had happened over the summer, deciding it was best just to tell him the truth.

"I see," was all he said. There was a long pause.

"Professor," Harry couldn't help, "You said you'd be more honest with me. I have a hard time believing you don't know what's going on." He didn't want to sound demanding, but he got the feeling Dumbledore was weighing how much to tell him. Now, Dumbledore looked at him seriously. Harry knew he couldn't inquire Dumbledore about his Death Eater theory (the boundaries and privacy of student and professor must be abided by), but hopefully, he could get some answers to set his mind at ease.

Finally, Dumbledore spoke. "I have also come to the conclusion that Mr. Malfoy may have been behind this unfortunate accident. Yes, accident because I do not believe he meant to hurt Katie."

"Why is that, sir?"

"I have my reasons… Trust me, Harry, when I say that Mr. Malfoy is no closer to reaching his objective than he is to becoming the Minister of Magic."

"Then you do know what he is up to?"

"Yes, but that is not for me to divulge. I am sorry, Harry," he said in anticipation to Harry's protestations, "but that is a condition I am not willing to break. Draco is in an extremely precarious position. I would rather have him under my nose to look after rather than sending him away via expulsion. Despite his privileged background, school is the only routine of normality in his life. Were I to take that away, I do not believe that would lead him to the correct path. There is nothing to fear, let me worry about this. You have far more important things to be worrying about."

Harry nodded reluctantly. "Also," Dumbledore continued, "whatever your suspicions of Draco may be, it would be dangerous for him and those around him for those ideas to become common knowledge. I would ask that you not speak of it to anyone else."

"Of course not, sir."

"That is good."

"I'll have that memory soon, sir, I promise," Harry pledged.

Now, Dumbledore showed a hint of a smile, "I am sure you will, Harry. I would expect nothing less from you."

"Good night, Professor."

"And a very good night to you, Harry."

As Harry walked back to the common room, he thought on everything Dumbledore had told him. He never said Malfoy was a Death Eater, but now there was no shred of doubt in Harry's mind that it was true. He did take comfort in the knowledge that Dumbledore was aware of this. It still made Harry uncomfortable, but there was no way Malfoy would best Dumbledore, who went to great lengths to protect his students. Now, Harry could concentrate on other areas, and he was admittedly glad to have that burden lifted from him. Hermione was right, his relentless pursuit of Malfoy hadn't been healthy. He just had to let himself leave the issue to more capable minds. With that peace, he felt lighter than he had since Katie's attack. The question of Snape's loyalty still nagged in the back of his mind, but through his Occlumency techniques, he eventually allowed himself to let go of that worry for now as well.

. *** .

Hermione decided to get some last minute studying in before she would leave Hogwarts for Christmas. She couldn't check out all the books she wanted to peruse over break, so she decided to just read some of the less lengthy ones now. She had only a week, after all, before school adjourned for winter break. Content, she sighed softly. This was her sanctuary. It was even better because the library was empty except for herself (and of course, the vulture-like librarian), and so, peacefully and blissfully quiet. Most of the other students became lazy just before a long break, and so found no need to utilize the Hogwarts library. She loved being with her friends, but sometimes, she needed alone time. Harry, while he meant well, was spending almost all of his free time not spent in extra lessons with Snape and Dumbledore or at Quidditch practice with her. She thought it was very sweet, and appreciated it very much, but she got the feeling he wanted her and Ron to make up; and she would not be doing that anytime soon. She wasn't going to lie to herself, she missed having Ron around, but she would not put up with Lavender. Harry was with Ginny right now, and that was just fine with her. It was a little depressing that she was the only one who wasn't with someone at the moment, romantically. Both Harry and Ginny were making sure to include her, but she knew they probably wanted to spend time alone together, and if truth be told, playing the third wheel could be awkward. It was also getting to be tiring to assure them that she was doing just fine. And this was one place she could be sure that she wouldn't be interrupted. She sighed again in contentment, but quickly decided that was enough sighing in case Madame Pince came and told her she was sighing much too loudly.

"Geez, Granger, that book is bigger than you are," came a drawling voice. She sighed, this time with annoyance. _No, of course, not. The world has decided that I can't be so happy after all._

To her immense surprise, he sat down straight across from her, plopping into the cushioned chair carelessly (but not before looking around to make sure no one else was in the vicinity, she noticed).

"So you decided I was right after all, huh?" he said with his arm draped lazily over the back of the chair beside him. Hermione rolled her eyes. Yes, he would disrupt her peace only to boast and brag. Why couldn't he have just left that for detention? At least then she was required to be with him. Very aggravated that he had interrupted her quiet time, she nevertheless chose not to take the bait. It seemed that he was less likely to talk when he was surprised, so why didn't she try to continue to see if that strategy was still effective?

"Yes, I did come to the realization that you were in fact right about many things," she said casually, still reading and flipping through the pages (honestly, it wasn't even that big of a book).Her diligence was rewarded with almost ten seconds of complete, beautiful, blissful silence. She was still reading her book, but she could just imagine Malfoy with his one eyebrow raised in question. "I wasn't using 'that big head' of mine, as you put it."Here, she peered over her book to see corner of Malfoy's mouth lift ever so slightly. _Were they actually having a civil conversation? What was the world coming to?_ But she was actually coming to find that these debates, for lack of a better term, that they had been engaging in lately were quite fascinating, but more importantly, an effective way to forget about You-Know-Who… and she wasn't talking about Voldemort (even Voldemort didn't subject her to endure the sheer stupidity of the blonde-haired bimbo). "But I still don't think you invalidated all of my points," she continued. "I still affirm that your treatment of me and others like me was completely unwarranted. And I also believe that you're wrong about your own destiny."

Now she finally looked up, and even closed her book for emphasis. Upon closer inspection, she saw that Malfoy looked rather ill, like he hadn't been getting enough sleep, almost grey. There were deep shadows beneath his eyes and he seemed oddly subdued. And was she imaging it, or had he lost a little weight? A lot of what Harry had said made sense, and she had been paying more attention to Malfoy's behavior because of it. She noticed he seemed withdrawn during detentions, and the last couple had been very uneventful. If Harry was right, then she had to try and do something about it. Looking directly at him she said, "It's not too late. You still have a choice. You have the power to change your fate. You're in control, not destiny. It's never too late for you to change the course of your future. Remember that." She stared him down one last time to quell any challenge that he might make. The silence was a little awkward this time given the almost personal conversations and insights they had shared in the past couple of weeks. When she got up to break it, it was to leave a very uncertain, puzzled, and slightly stunned Malfoy behind her.

. *** .

Ron and Hermione, while things had been settling down recently, were now fighting again. Harry wasn't sure what set it off, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with Lavender. It only got worse. "I don't care, Ron, you can kiss whomever you like. I just don't think you need to display it to everyone all of the time; it really is quite disturbing. No one enjoys seeing it," Hermione was saying as they set off for class.

"You wouldn't be saying that if _you_ had someone to kiss!"

Harry winced, _that_ was certainly not the right thing to say, and sort of a low blow. He chanced a glance at Hermione who looked stricken with shock and anger. After a while she said, "You're being ridiculous, Ron. Even if I was dating someone right now, your sloppy show still wouldn't hold any appeal."

"Sloppy!" He huffed indignantly and muttered things that Harry couldn't hear, but he thought he caught phrases like, "not sloppy," and "you kissed Krum."

They didn't talk the rest of the way to class. All in all, Harry's hopes that the two would eventually come to reconciliation were not high.

Throughout class, the two went at it. Hermione laughed at Ron's disastrous attempts to perform the new spell Snape taught them, and Ron in turn did a cruel but accurate impression of Hermione bouncing up and down in her seat whenever Snape posed a question to the class, which Lavender and Parvati found deeply amusing and which reduced Hermione to the verge of tears.

After class, Hermione rushed out. In the hallway, Lavender called out to her, "Why don't you just leave us alone? You're always getting in the way. You're just jealous of what Ronnie and I have."

The statement was completely juvenile, yet it stung because it was the truth. Hermione didn't have any reply, and was very close to crying in front of half the class, who was filing out of Snape's room. Harry looked on helplessly and decided that Lavender was one vengeful girl.

Indignant on her behalf, Malfoy decided to intervene with some brilliant insults of his own.

"Oh, shut your mouth, you mindless broad. No one cares for the opinion of someone either desperate enough or idiotic enough to date Weasel-king… What kind of parent names their kid after two colors anyway?" he asked in apparent distaste.

She was stunned into silence.

"I suppose your middle name is Rose or something similar," he continued. "I'm sure the combination of whatever colors it is you're called is positively hideous." He gave her a once over. "How appropriate."

And with that, he turned on his heel and left in dramatic fashion. By now, the entire class was watching.

Lavender was standing there in mute shock. Next came the indignant fury. Ron looked beside himself, ready for physical conflict, but Malfoy was already gone.

_Why did I do that_, thought Malfoy? Sure, the ridicule was entertaining enough. But he had done it in Granger's defense. Astounding. But the look on Weasel-bee's face was utterly priceless and made it well worth the effort. He chalked it up to the fact that although Granger was a Muggle-born, she at least wasn't an air-headed bimbo like that… What was her name again? Scarlet?

. *** .

Meanwhile, in the common room. Lavender was ranting on about Malfoy to anybody who would listen. She and Parvati were chatting animatedly about what they could do to get back at him. Harry and Hermione were sitting by the fireplace and Ron, to their immense surprise, joined them.

"I can't believe he said that!"

"Really? It is Malfoy after all," replied Hermione seeming extraordinarily unconcerned.

"But that was just uncalled for. His insults are usually predictable. That was totally out of the blue!"

Hermione couldn't help but agree. Of course, she would never admit that out loud.

"Can you believe it, Hermione?" He repeated.

For the next few minutes after Malfoy's utter destruction of Lavender, Ron attempted to get a rise out of her. He was probably trying to get her to admit that she felt bad for Lavender and take his girlfriend's side so they could all be great pals, Hermione thought bitterly. Well, to hell if she was going to do that!

"I thought it was quite clever actually. At least Malfoy's expanding his verbal abuse from his same old tired lines." _Like calling me a Mudblood_, she added in her mind. She contemplated what she had just thought. Now, where did that come from?

Ron looked affronted.

"You're actually defending Malfoy?" he demanded in outrage. "The evil git," he added angrily. Before she could respond he continued to fume irritably, "How could you? She's my girlfriend! You hate Malfoy!"

"She's not _my_ girlfriend! Why should I care? Not to mention the fact that she was insulting me! Why didn't _you_ stand up for me?" she asked accusatorily. Ron shifted uncomfortably. "I know what you're trying to do, Ronald Weasley. You're trying to get me to come around to Lavender even though she's been horrible to me. You really think she's garnered any sympathy from me? Ha!" she barked, earning a couple of looks from some of the Gryffindors nearby. "And I wasn't defending him," she continued before Ron could get a word in. "He's Malfoy, he's always going to deride people. It's what he does! Might as well be interesting, at the very least." She was quite glad, in fact, that Malfoy had intervened. He probably didn't know it, but he had actually saved her from a lot of humiliation.

"Interesting?!" Ron was now looking at Hermione as if she had suddenly grown another head… or several.

Harry didn't want to get involved. He couldn't say he was particularly incensed on Lavender's behalf — she was rather bothersome and not to mention was what had drove a wedge between his two best friends. It goes without saying that taking anyone's side in an argument spelled disaster for Harry, as well.

"What do you think, Harry?" urged Ron.

_Great_, thought Harry. He knew he'd dragged into this eventually.

"Well, it _is_ Malfoy. I mean, he does do it to everyone who's not a Slytherin."

Hermione looked grateful for Harry's rationality.

"So you're on her side! You enjoyed it, too?"

Only with great difficulty was Harry able to prevent himself from rolling his eyes.

"I didn't say that. I'd just as soon that he leave Hogwarts and never come back. But…" He didn't want to say 'she has a point' as that would only further enrage Ron. But he didn't want to alienate either of them, he just wanted to diffuse the situation. Why did Lavender have to like Ron? So he settled for, "It's just Malfoy. He's not worth it."

. *** .

Harry decided the best use of his free time was to find a way to get the memory from Slughorn. He did not want to have to face Dumbledore's disappointment again. This was the last week before school terminated for winter break and he didn't want to wait until afterwards. He got up from his bed and scrimmaged through his trunk to retrieve the small vial of potion he kept protected in an old, unused pair of socks (compliments of the Dursleys'). He gripped it in his hands, debating whether or not to use it. He wanted to save it for… what, he wasn't sure, but it seemed terrible valuable to waste. And he was sure he could get it from Slughorn on his own. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until after breakfast, he was starving.

"What d'you say Ron, should we head down?"

When Ron didn't answer, Harry looked over to see Ron staring out of the window wearing a vague and unfocused expression.

"Ron? Breakfast?"

"Hmm? I'm not hungry…"

Harry stared at him, surely he must have heard incorrectly. He looked and saw that Ron had eaten about half a box of chocolate cauldrons.

"Seriously, Ron?"

Ron was staring off into the distance once again.

"Hello? Earth, to Ron!"

"Sorry, Harry, it's just — never mind you wouldn't understand," he said in distress.

Harry was starting to become increasingly alarmed, this was very strange behavior for his friend.

"Understand what, Ron? What's wrong?"

"I can't stop thinking about her."

Harry gaped at his friend. "Who? Hermione?"

"No."

Great. Surely, Lavender was brainwashing him. He shook his head, "Well, I'm sure she'll be happy to see you when we get downstairs. Now let's go." He didn't have time to deal with this nonsense, and wasn't about to waste any of it trying to make sense of it.

"I don't think she even knows I exist!" Ron lamented.

Seriously, what was the deal? "Of course she does! How could she not? I doubt she thinks she's been snogging anyone else this whole time."

"Who are you talking about?" Ron asked, seemingly perplexed.

"Who are _you_ talking about?" Harry returned, with an increasing sense that all reason had dropped out of the conversation.

"Romilda Vane," Ron uttered softly, and his whole face seemed to illuminate as he said it, as though hit by a ray of purest sunlight.

Harry just stared. "Come again?"

"I think — Harry, I think I love her."

What was going on? Harry looked for an explanation and found it when he saw the box of chocolates again. "Where did you get those?" he asked, pointing to it.

"I got them from Honeydukes."

"No you didn't, you prat. They were mine, I threw them out when I was searching for Felix Felicis."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Romilda gave them to me and she spiked them with love potion!"

Only one word of this seemed to have registered with Ron. "Romilda?" he said eagerly. "You know her? Harry, can you introduce me?"

He looked so hopeful, it was almost comical. "Yeah…" Harry said, an idea forming in his head. "Sure, let's go see her now."

"Okay!" Ron bounded off his bed, following Harry in tow with bouncy steps. "Harry, where are you going?" he asked as Harry led him to Slughorn's. "She at potions right now; extra lessons," he made up.

Slughorn appeared at his office door when Harry knocked. "Harry," he said, clearly surprised and discomfited sensing that Harry was going to ask for the memory again. Harry reflected that might be a good idea, but not right now. "Professor, I'm really sorry to disturb you," said Harry as quietly as possible, while Ron stood on tiptoe, attempting to see past Slughorn into his room, "but my friend Ron's swallowed a love potion by mistake. You couldn't make him an antidote, could you? I'd take him to Madam Pomfrey, but we're not supposed to have anything from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and, you know… awkward questions…"

"I'd have thought you could have whipped him up a remedy, Harry, an expert potioneer like you?" asked Slughorn.

"I thought it might be best to leave it to someone more experienced," said Harry, somewhat distracted by the fact that Ron was now elbowing him in the ribs in an attempt to force his way into the room. "And I didn't want to leave Ron unattended, considering he might've done something serious."

Helpfully, Ron chose this moment to moan, "I can't see her. Harry — is he hiding her?"

"Was this potion within date?" asked Slughorn, now eyeing Ron with professional interest. "They can strengthen, you know, the longer they're kept."

"That would explain a lot," panted Harry, practically wrestling with Ron to keep him from knocking Slughorn over. "It's pretty bad."

"Oh, all right, come in, then, come in," said Slughorn, relenting. "I've got the necessary here in my bag; it's not a difficult antidote…"

Ron burst through the door into Slughorn's study, tripping over a footstool in the process, and regained his balance by seizing Harry around the neck. "She didn't see that, did she?"

"She's not here yet," said Harry, rubbing his throat, watching Slughorn opening his potion kit and adding a few pinches of this and that to a small crystal bottle. "But she'll be here soon."

"That's good," said Ron fervently. "How do I look?"

"Very handsome," Slughorn said smoothly, handing Ron a glass of clear liquid. "Now drink up. Tonic for the nerves, to keep you calm when she arrives."

"Brilliant," said Ron eagerly, and he gulped the antidote down noisily.

Harry and Slughorn watched him. For a moment, Ron beamed at them. Then, very slowly, his grin slumped and vanished to be replaced by an expression of utmost horror.

"Back to normal, then?" said Harry, grinning. Slughorn chuckled. "Thanks a lot, Professor."

"Don't mention it, m'boy, don't mention it," said Slughorn, as Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair, looking horrified. "Pick-me-up, that's what he needs," Slughorn continued, bustling over to a table loaded with drinks. "I've got Butterbeer, I've got wine, and I've got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead… hmm… meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas, but… he can't miss what he's never had! I think this qualifies as a worthy cause. Why don't we open it now? Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love…"

He chortled again and Harry joined in. This was the first time he had found himself almost alone with Slughorn since his disastrous attempts to extract the true memory from him. Perhaps, if he could just keep Slughorn in a good mood… perhaps if they got through enough of the oak-matured mead…

"There you are, then," said Slughorn, handing Harry and Ron a glass of mead each, before raising his own. "Don't worry, Ralph, you're not the first to have been the unfortunate victim of a strong love potion," he chuckled again.

"Ron," whispered Harry.

But Ron, who did not appear to be listening to the toast, had already thrown the mead into his mouth and swallowed it.

There was one second, hardly more than a heartbeat, in which Harry knew there was something terribly wrong and Slughorn, it seemed, did not.

"— and you certainly won't be the last."

"Ron!"

Ron dropped his glass; he half-rose from his chair and then crumpled, his limbs jerking uncontrollably. Foam was dribbling from his mouth and his eyes were bulging from their sockets.

"Professor!" Harry shouted. "Do something! Quick!"

But Slughorn seemed paralyzed with shock. Ron twitched and choked: his skin was turning blue.

"What — but — ?" spluttered Slughorn.

Harry leapt over a low table and sprinted towards Slughorn's open potion kit, pulling out jars and pouches, while the terrible sound of Ron's gargling breath filled the room. Then he found it — the shriveled kidney-like stone from Potions. He hurtled back to Ron's side, wrenched open his jaw and thrust the bezoar into his mouth. Ron gave a great shudder, a rattling gasp and his body became limp and still. But he was breathing, and other than being unconscious, appeared to be fine.

Ron was taken to the hospital wing. Hermione was told by McGonagall what happened, and soon came to join Harry there. Hermione forgot all about her anger with Ron, and was clearly worried and terrified by what happened.

"Wait, Hermione? Love potions are banned. How were they able to get it in here?" asked Harry.

"Fred and George have an owl service where they send them disguised as perfumes and cough syrups. Filch obviously wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

"What about poisons?" Harry asked. Hermione looked alarmed at the implications. She opened her mouth to talk, but then the door burst open. "Oh, no! My Ronald!" It was Mrs. Weasley, followed by her husband. "My son! How could this happen to him? Oh, Harry," she said, seizing Harry and enwrapping him in a tight embrace, "What can we say? You've saved Ginny… you saved Arthur… now you've saved Ron."

"Stop," he muttered, "I didn't — it wasn't…"

"Come to think of it," Mr. Weasley said, "Half of our family seems to owe you our lives… Well, all I can say is that it was a lucky day for the Weasley clan when Ron decided to sit in your compartment on the Hogwarts Express."

Harry could not think of any reply to this and was glad when the twins and Ginny entered the room. Hagrid also came to look in on Ron. When Madam Pomfrey told them there were too many visitors around Ron's bed; he and Hermione rose at once to leave and Hagrid decided to go with them, leaving Ron with his family. However, Lavender Brown burst into the room and cried, "Ron! Why didn't anyone tell me what happened? And why is _she_ here?" she asked indignantly.

"Because I've been friends with him for six years," Hermione replied icily. The rest of the inhabitants shifted uncomfortably. "Sorry, we didn't think to tell you, but the staff obviously thought about his family, Harry and me, first."

Lavender babbled like a fish and Madame Pomfrey sent them away. Lavender sent one last glare Hermione's way before parting ways, and Hermione stared unwaveringly back.

It took Ron a couple of days to fully recover (Quidditch practice had been a depressing affair with both Katie and Ron missing), and when he did, Harry noticed the rift between Ron and Hermione close. He supposed almost losing your friend could really put things into perspective. Conversely, Ron seemed to become more disinterested in Lavender, and the two were no longer inseparable as they once were. A change for the better, Harry thought. Although Harry's concern for Ron had been great, he still hadn't forgotten his pledge to Dumbledore. Try as he might, he could simply not get Slughorn on his own. Unfortunately, it looked as if it would have to wait until after break. Slughorn only had a morning class on Friday, and so he had left for his break earlier that day. Harry and the rest of the gang would leave for Grimmauld Place that night. The Weasleys' home had been repaired, but the Order, with Harry's approval, was meeting there and they had been very busy lately with all of the attacks. The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione would be staying there over the holidays. He was a little nervous now that everyone knew he and Ginny were dating. Still, he was excited for the holidays to begin. One thing, however, marred his happiness. Katie Bell still hadn't fully recovered…Snape identified the curse, but even with that knowledge, the curse had been a powerful one and it would take her some time before she fully recovered. The news that she had been cursed had spread all over the school, though the details were confused and nobody other than Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target. Though Harry was primarily concerned with getting the memory from Slughorn, that wasn't to say he wouldn't try and get to the bottom of this mystery once he had completed his task…

. *** .

A few hours before they were due to meet the thestral-borne carriages that would take them to the Hogwarts Express, there was one more thing to do. They hadn't visited Hagrid for quite some time, so they trekked the familiar path almost automatically to see their friend before the holidays began.

As they made their way to his hut, Fang bounded out to meet them. Harry was almost knocked over backwards from the force of Fang, who stood on his hind legs and greeted Harry as if to hug him, his front paws pounding into his chest. "Oof. Hi, Fang," Harry managed to say. At Fang's booming barks of salutation, Hagrid, who was outside, turned to see the three companions walking along the path to his home. He waved and beamed a smile so great, they could see it even from a distance through his large, wild beard.

"How're you all doing?" he boomed happily when the three of them (Ginny had already left with her parents having finished school earlier that day) neared his hut.

After each of them gave their scattered replies he said, "Hmm. I was just about to…" Hagrid looked somewhat apprehensive, piquing Harry's curiosity as well as a sense of wariness; for Hagrid was notorious for having a love and interest in things that tended to be ferocious in nature. "I was just about to visit Grawp. I don't suppose yeh'd want ter come?" he finished in a low voice, suddenly looking anxious and rather vulnerable.

Harry glanced quickly at his two companions. He knew none of them particularly wished to see Hagrid's giant half-brother, but what choice did they have? They (they being Harry) had already committed to visiting Grawp, and now was as good a time as any. Plus, Harry didn't want to dishearten Hagrid. "Of course we'll come," he said with more bravado and enthusiasm than he thought possible under the circumstances, after sharing surreptitious nods of confirmation with Hermione and Ron.

"Dumbledore got a portkey for me, great man, Dumbledore." He came back bearing an old Frisbee. "Alrigh', ready?" he asked. They reluctantly grabbed onto the portkey. "Shoudn' be too long now," said Hagrid. Right on cue, they felt the magical tug of the portkey and then quite suddenly landed in a vast range of mountains. They followed Hagrid up treacherous paths and when they finally reached a large cage, the three of them were positively worn out. Even with Harry's newly acquired conditioning, trying to keep up with Hagrid was difficult to say the least. Hagrid on the other hand, seemed rather unaffected from the trek. "Grawpy?" Hagrid called atop the cave entrance as the other three were still struggling up the steep rock face. "It's me, Hagrid, and I've brought you a few friends!"

Next, they heard reverberating booms that shook the ground with their force. They became increasingly louder and more violent until the form of a large, giant man appeared at the entrance. "Hagger?" Grawp then turned his large head and located the smaller humans. He looked at Hermione longer than the rest, she had a hard time trying not to shiver under the gaze of his giant-sized eyes. Ron and Harry moved instinctively towards her. Then, "Hermy!" yelled Grawp. "Hi," he said.

The three of them stood in amazement, and Ron's mouth dropped when Grawp reached out to, presumably, shake hands. Hermione timidly reached out to hold the very tip of his finger. "Hello, Grawp," she managed shakily. He smiled and gradually, Hermione did, too. Hagrid couldn't look any happier or prouder. "See, I told yeh 'e was comin' along, didn' I?"

He had, but none of them had truly believed him. "It's wonderful, Hagrid," said Hermione, amazed, and Harry and Ron quickly agreed. It was a better visit than any of them could have anticipated, and Grawp proved to be less aggressive, almost tame. He couldn't string together sentences and had trouble with words more than one or two syllables, but he also learned a few tricks and entertained them until it was almost night-time. They enjoyed talking with Hagrid and amused themselves by watching the antics of Grawp. When it was time to return to the castle, they told Hagrid they would like to visit again, to which he grinned like a fool. They boarded the Hogwart's express and, laughing and talking, forgot all of their troubles on their way to Grimmauld Place.

. *** .

Draco didn't especially want to visit his father. Spending his holidays in prison didn't sound appealing to him in the least. But Mother seemed to want to, so he put on a happy face for her benefit. He would only do this for her.

There were no more dementors as they were all in the service of the Dark Lord, but it still felt chilly and awfully dismal within the cell walls. The Auror shut the door behind them with a clang. As they both walked through, they were cast some dirty looks by the guards. Draco hated it when people looked at him like that. But they would never guess that he was already a Death Eater, only that he would become one, following in the footsteps of his father.

Draco found that he didn't miss his father at all. And when the face that looked so much like his own glanced up through the metal bars that encaged it, it was with little more than disinterest, fortifying Draco's earlier feelings for his father.

Perhaps the prison walls had made him despondent (that's probably what his mother would tell herself), but he could at least have the decency to look somewhat pleased that his wife and son had come to visit him.

As his mother talked with his father, he wandered down the hall to give them some privacy. And, in truth, he didn't want to hear what his father had to say to her. He'd like to believe that his parents loved each other, but his mother seemed more carefree when he wasn't around. Except when the Dark Lord was there, he thought darkly. _Another thing to despise my father for. He's the one responsible for putting us in this mess._ The Dark Lord would sometimes use the Malfoy Manor as a meeting place, offered up graciously by his lovely Aunt Bellatrix — without his or his mother's permission, he might add. He hated the thought of his mother being alone with that disgusting creature.

"Draco?" his mother asked, now just behind his shoulder; apparently they were done. "Your father wants to speak with you."

_No_, Draco thought, _he doesn't want to talk to me, his son, he wants the information I can give him — news of his fate_. Draco was nothing more than a courier from his father's beloved Death Eaters.

"Hello, father," he said emotionlessly, but respectfully.

"Draco," his father acknowledged formally. "How goes your mission?" he solicited. Most fathers would ask how he was doing, how was school going, did he and his friends get into any mischief? But no, not his father. Never his father. 'I don't want to talk about my bloody mission!' he wanted to scream, but he didn't, not even with his father securely behind those bars. "Well enough, father," he said instead, being deliberately vague. He could afford some cheek.

"Yes, but how close? How close are you to achieving your goal?" his father hissed impatiently.

_Goa__l__? _This certainly wasn't _his_ goal.

"The Dark Lord, did he say anything about freeing us?" his father pressed without waiting for an answer.

_Of course, I knew we'd come to this eventually_. Draco no longer held out any hope that his father would one day miraculously express his care for him anymore, but he still couldn't keep the disappointment from creeping into his heart. That was all his father did, disappoint him; how apropos. The feeling was very much mutual. It seemed to be the only thing he and his father could agree on. A part of him still craved his father's approval, even now, a part of him he wanted to stamp out until it no longer existed. But that part of him was shrinking every day. "I haven't spoken to the Dark Lord since this summer. I can't attend meetings whilst at school as you very well know," he stated coldly. He was going to keep his father in the dark as much as he possibly could.

Some of the old anger flashed in his fathers' eyes. "Draco, you _must_ complete your mission, and soon… Think about your family, your mother —"

"_I_ do think about Mother," he retorted. He never interrupted his father, but there was nothing he could do behind bars. How dare his father exploit Draco's feelings for his mother? So his father couldn't even muster a smile, but it was perfectly acceptable for him to show his rage. "You —" Lucius began, pointing an accusatory finger in Draco's direction.

"Alright, time's up," called the Auror.

"Goodbye, _father_," he spat, turning his back on his father and strutted down the hall to join his mother.

"How did it go?" asked his mother as they walked out of the prison. When Draco didn't say anything, she put a hand on his shoulder, which he normally would have shrugged off, but didn't this time. "I know he can come across as uncaring," she said, mistaking his anger for disappointment, "but he's never been one to express his emotions. It's just harder for him."

_My father doesn't have any emotions_, Draco decided, _he doesn't feel anything at all_.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 13:

Our favorite band of Hogwarts students cut their vacation early and return to school where they host a surprise visitor. Harry is determined to get the all-important memory from Slughorn. Will he succeed? Harry also receives a surprise during his lessons with Snape. Two of the so-called 'Gold Trio' get into an intense argument; shockingly, it isn't between Ron and Hermione. Meanwhile, Hermione has taken just about all she can from a certain blond…

_Voldemort had to be stopped, and he was the only who could do it, according to the prophecy… He was trapped in a vast sea, alone in the dark, as the storm raged all around him. It made him feel small and utterly helpless._

"_Harry?" Ginny said gently, her voice scarcely more than a whisper._

_Harry realized that he was leaning over on the balustrade and gripping it tightly. His breath had become shallow and uneven. He turned around and slid to the floor._

"_I can't do this." He couldn't take it anymore, he didn't want to be Harry Potter. He couldn't be strong and shoulder his burden along any longer…_

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Sorry, but "stink on rubbish" just sounds a little stupid to me.

A/N:

I feel like this chapter was a bit jumbled and not very organized, and perhaps a bit too long. I apologize for this, but I needed to get all of my plot points in this chapter, and I couldn't find a good place to split it. There was no way I was going to cram in memories of Riddle in Harry's lesson with Dumbledore, so I left it for another time. Understand, this is my first story, so try not to judge me too harshly. I'm still not quite sure how I feel about this chapter. There's a lot going on, almost too much. I do love Draco's 'utter destruction' of Lavender, though. One of my favorite things to write thus far. Once again, I do appreciate reviews, so just click on that little button below! It has taken me forever to write these twelve chapters (about a year and a half), and I promise it doesn't take nearly that long to write a review!

Signing off,

fanster


	14. In the Mirror

So, lately I have been really unmotivated to do any writing and even trying to proof-read through things seems like a daunting task. I am definitely being done-in with all of my midterms (I'm taking some really tough courses this semester). My brain is just so tired of everything. I read through most of this chapter, but I'm not sure if I'm completely satisfied with it. I'll probably take a look at it later on and make the necessary edits, if any exist. Anyways, I hope you guys are still sticking with the story. When I wrote this chapter, I wasn't in such a funk, so hopefully my exhaustion isn't showing in my writing.

DISCLAIMER: I really hate having to say this every time, as I'm sure you're sick of reading it (unless you've learned to skip it altogether now, in which case… Never mind. I'm not going down _that_ convoluted path), but I still don't Harry Potter.

Portions of Harry's conversation with Dumbledore are taken from _HBP_.

* * *

Chapter 13

In the Mirror

Christmas had been a wonderful affair. All of Harry's favorite people had been there. The Weasleys, of course, and Hermione were there for Christmas. Hagrid, Tonks, Dumbledore, Kingsley, Moody and even McGonagall joined them. Lupin, unfortunately, had not been able to join them. Presumably, he was doing work for the Order, and Harry was sorry he wouldn't be able to see him. He hadn't seen him for a while. Harry had hoped Lupin might write to him after Sirius' death, but was slightly disappointed that he hadn't.

The snow fell in heaps, making the atmosphere even more festive. It was bittersweet for Harry to celebrate Christmas in what used to be Sirius' house, but he was coming to terms with what happened at the Ministry slowly but surely. He figured that that's what Sirius would have wanted.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny returned to Hogwarts a couple of days early. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to visit Fleur's family in France, and the twins were bunkered down in their shop. Hermione would be spending the remainder of the holidays with her family. There wasn't much to do at Hogwarts, but it was much better than staying at Grimmauld Place. They would visit Hagrid, have snowball fights, fly around on their brooms, or try and skate over the frozen lake. They stayed up as late as they wanted and didn't bother to keep their voices down since no one else was there. Between the three of them, they were able to keep things entertaining and often laughed uncontrollably late into the night. Harry didn't get to spend as much alone time with Ginny as he wanted, as Ron had a habit of staying close to them both. This seemed to aggravate Ginny to the extreme, but Harry didn't mind too much. He enjoyed his time with both of them. By the time Hermione returned, break was almost over.

One morning, Harry and Hermione were sitting alone in the common room. Ron and Ginny tended to sleep in much later. "Harry, I've been thinking about Malf —" she paused as Ginny came down the stairs. Harry hated keeping Ginny in the dark, he felt guilty even though he wasn't doing anything wrong. He didn't like being so secretive, it made it feel like he didn't trust her. He thought about his pledge to Dumbledore. He wouldn't let anyone else know, but there was no reason he couldn't trust Ginny. He was certain Dumbledore wouldn't mind.

"It's alright, Hermione. We can tell her."

"Tell me what?" asked Ginny, curious.

Harry explained everything and impressed upon her the importance of keeping the information to herself. She agreed and Harry felt better for including her. Ginny had promised she wouldn't say anything.

"Have you guys eaten breakfast, yet?"

They both nodded their heads. "Well, I'm going to take a shower and head down then."

"Alright, I'll go with you…"

Ginny looked at him and Harry realized how that must have sounded. He quickly worked to explain himself. "Down to breakfast, I mean — after you're done," he added hastily. Ginny just laughed and walked upstairs while Harry tried not to turn red.

"Oh, shut up," he told Hermione as she tried to stifle a laugh. "Anyways, what about Malfoy?" Harry hastened to ask to change the subject. His tactic worked, for Hermione sobered up quickly. "Harry… I think you might be right."

"Finally caught on, have you?"

"I'm serious, Harry."

"And I'm not?"

"Of course you are, it's just… What are we supposed to do?"

"We just have to be on the lookout, make sure that nothing happens and no one comes to harm. I feel better knowing that Dumbledore's on it, but I'm still not comfortable knowing that there's a Death Eater in our school."

"We still don't know for sure, Harry."

"Hermione. Even you thought that the incident with the necklace and Ron were connected. And I've been thinking," continued Harry. "Hermione, I think it's more serious than I previously thought." At Grimmauld Place, he contemplated several things when he was able to find some alone time. The conclusion he came to — the revelation that he uncovered — was a grievous one indeed. "I don't think he was ordered to spy on Dumbledore. I think he was ordered to murder him."

"Harry," said Hermione, in shock. "Why would you think that? I know you don't like Malfoy, but he's not —"

"He's not what, Hermione? A Death Eater?"

"He may not have wanted it."

"It doesn't matter!"

"Harry!" Hermione cried, stunned.

"Listen, just think about it, Hermione. It all makes sense. I'm not just being obsessive, even I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but that's the conclusion I came to. The necklace, what if Katie wasn't talking about a door? What if she meant Dumbledore?"

"But that's not enough to —"

"And the poison," Harry interjected, "that was meant to go to Dumbledore as well. And how did Malfoy manage to do that? You said yourself Filch can't tell the difference. It probably would have been easy to sneak it in. And how did he break into Slughorn's office without anyone knowing? What if he did know, what if even _we_ knew, and didn't recognize it? What if Malfoy went in when there were too many people around to notice, at say, a party? And the conversation I heard afterwards with Snape…"

Fear and awe mixed on Hermione's face as Harry's explanation dawned on her. "You see, Hermione? Don't you see? It all fits!"

"But, Dumbledore knows then, and Malfoy won't be able to outsmart Dumbledore. _If_ that even is Malfoy's plan." Some of what Harry said made sense, but she didn't believe it. That just couldn't be it.

"But he's hurt other people, Hermione. Ron could've died! Think about would've happened if I hadn't found that bezoar! If I hadn't found the Prince's book!"

Tears started to form in Hermione's eyes. "Oh, Harry, I don't want to think about that. I know what would've happened."

"Then you should understand why Malfoy is so dangerous! You just don't want to believe it. But it's the truth. I know it's scary, but —"

"It's not that I'm scared, Harry."

"Then what — ?"

"I don't know! I-I just don't think Malfoy's capable of doing that. No, not even him."

"He _is_ capable, Hermione. Voldemort has probably threatened his life and his family's. He'll do whatever it takes."

"But Dumbledore —"

"Dumbledore is just trying to protect Malfoy for as long as he can. That's why he hasn't expelled him."

"But, when he fails…"

Harry looked down. "I don't know. Hopefully… Voldemort will find a reason not to do it."

"And if he doesn't? Harry, that won't happen and you know it!"

"Well, there's nothing I can do about it. Besides, he probably enjoys it. He probably loves being a Death Eater, just like his dad."

"You don't know that."

Harry hesitated. "Malfoy made his choice, he just threw himself in with the wrong lot."

"So he deserves to die!" cried Hermione, shocked.

"No. But look what he's done! He obviously doesn't care about anyone but himself. He could have refused. He could have chosen not to do his task."

"And let his parents die?"

"So you think everything he has done was justified?" he demanded.

"Of course not! But try and see things from his angle."

"He could just say he agreed to do the mission, and then find another way to save his parents; silently rebel against Voldemort. It's what I would have done. I would _never_ serve Voldemort! I'd rather die first!"

"What if it was you, and you had to save Ron, or me… or Ginny?" Hermione asked him quietly.

"I'd find another way."

"What if there wasn't one?"

"Then I'd make one!" Harry roared, standing up and scaring off Crookshanks, who had been lying in his lap.

There was a permeating silence. Harry continued to stare down Hermione, and she glared right back.

"What's going on? I heard you two shouting," came a voice from above them. It was Ron.

"Harry?" This time it was Ginny, her head was wrapped in a towel and a trailing puddle followed behind her.

Harry looked back at Hermione, "You can't save everyone, Hermione. I learned that the hard way." Unable to take anymore, he stormed out of the room.

"Harry!" Ginny threw off her towel and hastened to catch him.

That left Hermione and Ron all alone. "Hermione?" he said quietly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Ron."

"Hermione, that wasn't nothing. Why was he yelling at you?"

She looked at him. His eyes were filled with genuine concern. She wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and cry, but she couldn't. As she looked into the confused and caring blue eyes of her friend, she found she had the urge to cry, but wasn't sure as to the reason. "I'm sorry, Ron." What she was sorry for, she also didn't know. The words just spilled out of her mouth. It was what she was feeling, but she couldn't identify the source of those feelings. She ran out of the portrait hole, now letting the tears stream freely. "Hermione, wait!" she heard Ron shout. This made her cry even harder. She felt as if with each step, she was putting distance between her and Ron in a nonphysical way, like she was withdrawing from the relationship they shared, whatever that was. But she had argued with Harry, not Ron. Even her brain could not make sense of her jumbled feelings. She wanted Ron, didn't she? So why didn't she just turn around, and let him make things better? But she wouldn't stop, she couldn't; she kept running and let her feet carry her where they may. She didn't dare turn around. She felt like she was inside of a nightmare, one that she couldn't escape.

When she came to a stop, out of breath, she looked up to see that she had run all the way to the library; she hadn't meant to come here. She paused for a moment, then stepped inside…

. *** .

"Harry, what's wrong?" Ginny asked when she finally caught up with Harry.

Harry sighed. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"You're upset. Maybe talking about it will —"

"Ginny, I told you, I don't want to talk about it right now," he said shortly.

"I'm just trying to help you, you know."

Harry sighed again. "I don't even know what we were really fighting about. One moment we were talking about Malfoy, and then the next… I've never fought with Hermione like that before."

"Maybe you both just acted out, it's perfectly normal."

"No, it wasn't that."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know! That's the point!" He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He saw that Ginny looked taken aback and maybe a little hurt as well. "I'm sorry, I just —" he didn't quite know what to say at this point.

He wasn't quite sure why Hermione was so adamant to defend Malfoy. He didn't want to think about things from Malfoy's point of view. People, families, were being torn apart, all because of Voldemort. And it was Harry's responsibility to stop him. Every time he read the newspaper, when he saw his visions, when he heard of another death, he couldn't help but feel that if he could just stop Voldemort, none of it would have ever happened. But he couldn't, he wasn't ready to face him. He couldn't learn things fast enough and he felt in every tragedy, every terrible fate, the weight of his task pressing in upon him.

He, in a way, felt responsible for every single one, even Malfoy. Voldemort had to be stopped, and he was the only who could do it according to the prophecy. Hermione hadn't accused him, but he still felt the burden. He was trapped in a vast sea, alone in the dark, as the storm raged all around him. It made him feel small and utterly helpless.

"Harry?" Ginny said gently, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.

Harry realized that he was leaning over on the balustrade and gripping it tightly. His breath had become shallow and uneven. He turned around and slid to the floor.

"I can't do this." He couldn't take it anymore, he didn't want to be Harry Potter. He didn't want to be 'the Chosen One'. He didn't want to be strong and shoulder his burden along any longer, he couldn't — not with Ginny standing so close to him, looking at him so tenderly. Everyone had a weakness, and she was his.

"Do what?" asked Ginny, concerned.

Harry looked up at her. "Voldemort… How am I supposed to beat him?"

"Why does it have to be you, Harry?"

Here was the moment of truth. "Ginny… I'm the Chosen One," he said, hating the sound of the last two words. They just seemed so wrong. She looked startled at first, but then that familiar look of determination appeared on her face. She handled this much more poise than either Ron or Hermione had. She was a rock.

Ginny kneeled down beside him and took his face in her hands, gently lifting his chin and forcing him to look up at her. "You will defeat him. You will. I know you will," she said with more conviction and confidence than he ever felt. He could see it in her eyes. Why was it that everyone put so much faith in him? Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid… and now Ginny… What was so special about him?

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Because I know you, Harry Potter. How could he beat _you_? You, who are brave, smart… stubborn," she said with a hint of a smile.

"He's all those things and more."

"No, he's not. What does he fight for? He fights for nothing. But you, you fight for everything. You care, you care about what happens. You believe in what you do. Him? He's just afraid of dying… You aren't alone, Harry. You have people who love you, who care about you, and who would die to protect you. He doesn't have those things. We're all in this together. And that makes all the difference. _That's_ how I know you'll beat him."

Her fiery passion stoked something inside him; it gave him hope. He met her gaze with equal intensity. He leaned in to kiss her and, as Harry knew she would, she moved to meet him. It was nothing like kissing Cho, he would later reflect, for he had room for no such thoughts at the moment. Incorporated into the kiss was all of the things that reminded him of Ginny, it was like she was sharing a private part of her with him, and communicating all that she was and all that she cared about in that kiss. She pulled away gently and he felt slightly dazed.

"Thank you, Ginny."

She didn't answer, but gave him another kiss, softer this time, on his lips. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Feeling much better, they made their way back to the common room.

Most of that feeling faded when they got there. Ron was sitting on the sofa with his arms folded, and looking very cross.

"Where have you two been off to?" he asked them irately. "Where's Hermione?" he asked without waiting for an answer.

"She isn't here?" asked Harry.

"No." Ron continued to glare at Harry. "What did you do to upset her anyways?"

"We just got in a fight. Why did she leave?"

"You should know, you're the one that upset her. She wouldn't even talk to me; she left crying."

"Hermione was crying?"

"No, I was kidding… Yes, she was crying. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Harry was surprised at Ron's behavior, and Ginny it seemed, did not appreciate it.

"Hey, there's no need to be an ass, where'd she go?"

"I'm your older brother, don't you dare speak to me that way."

"Just answer the question," she said impatiently.

"How should I know? She ran off."

"And you didn't go looking for her?" Harry asked.

"I have no idea where she went. And besides, she made it clear that she didn't want to talk to me. I doubt she's going to want to talk to _you_," he said to Harry. "Where are you going?" he asked as Harry turned to leave once again.

"To find Hermione," answered Harry.

"Leave her alone, mate. If she wanted to talk to you, she wouldn't have left."

Harry pursed his lips and exited the portrait hole anyway.

. *** .

Hermione was appalled that Harry had said those things. He was a compassionate person, how could he be so apathetic to Malfoy's plight? Even though Harry had not witnessed the different side of Malfoy that she had seen glimpses of, how could he have no sympathy for what Malfoy was going through? Forced to serve Lord Voldemort, and living in fear that he would be responsible for not only his death, but his parents' were he to fail. She couldn't believe that Harry didn't think it mattered whether or not Malfoy wanted to be a Death Eater.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't even notice that Harry had joined her until he was right in front of her. It startled her and she had nothing more to say to him. "What do you want, Harry?"

"Look, I'm sorry, Hermione. You were right, about a lot of things. I do feel bad about the situation he's in. It's just easier for me to think he's evil."

"And why is that easier, Harry?"

"Because then I wouldn't feel as bad when the inevitable occurred."

"You want to make him evil so it's not as sad?" she asked incredulously, repulsed.

"No, that's not it. You don't understand."

"Then make me understand. Enlighten me, Harry," she said as she folded her arms.

"Because… I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort. Everything bad that happens, I should be preventing, but I'm not."

"Harry," Hermione said as she reached across the table, her anger immediately dissipating, "it's not your fault."

"It still feels like it."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I had no idea you felt that way. I should have known." It all made sense now. Harry wasn't being insensitive, he felt guilty.

"It's alright, Hermione, how could you know?… So, we're okay?"

"Of course, we are. But Harry, you shouldn't blame yourself for —"

Harry cut her off. "I've already had this talk with Ginny. I really don't want to go through it again."

"But you understand, don't you?"

"I… I feel better about everything."

"Good."

"Ron was all worked up. He said you were really upset… that you were crying. I didn't mean for things to go so far… I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Oh, Harry," she said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I wasn't crying over our argument, although it did upset me."

"Then what was it?"

"I don't know. It's about Ron, Harry."

"Ron? What did _he_ do?"

"He didn't _do_ anything."

"Then how did he make you upset?" asked Harry, confused.

"He didn't really _make_ me upset. I just — I don't know, Harry."

He saw that she was perilously close to tears again.

"Is this about Lavender?"

"No," she decided, "Not really. Please, Harry, I-I don't really want to talk about it right now. I can't even make sense of it myself."

"Okay," Harry said still puzzled, but he let the subject drop for the moment. "Well, if you want to talk, I'm here."

"I know that, Harry."

"Well, are you ready to head back up?" he asked after a while.

Hermione sighed, "Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

Their brunch after that was an awkward affair. Hardly anyone spoke and the attempts to initiate conversation seemed unnaturally forced and cautious. As the day continued, this trend lingered, but this all changed with a surprise visit.

There was a knock on the common room door.

"Who could that be?" Hermione asked.

"I dunno," Harry said curiously as he went to open the portrait hole.

"… used to be a student here…"

Harry could hear parts of the argument with the Fat Lady as he moved towards the door and thought the voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't be sure. He could barely hear the snippets of conversation he caught.

He opened the door to settle this mystery.

"Harry! There you are."

"Prof — Remus?" Harry said in amazement, remembering belatedly the request Lupin had made over the summer to refer to him by his first name. "What are you doing here?"

Remus raised his eyebrows. "To see you," he said as if it was the most obvious thing. "And everyone else as well, of course," he added, seeing Ron, Hermione and Ginny. "Hello, everyone."

"What have you been up to lately?" Harry asked him, stepping aside to allow his former professor inside (as the Fat Lady huffed with disapproval). "We've hardly heard anything from you since this summer."

"Oh, I've been underground," said Lupin. "Almost literally. That's why I haven't been able to write, Harry; sending letters to you would have been something of a giveaway."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been living among my fellows, my equals," said Lupin.

Hermione gasped. "You haven't been!" she exclaimed.

"I'm afraid so," Lupin replied.

"You mean… werewolves?" asked Harry.

"Yes. Nearly all of them are on Voldemort's side," Lupin explained as he sat down in one of the empty armchairs. "Dumbledore wanted a spy and who better than me? However, it has been difficult to gain their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing — and sometimes killing — to find food and survive."

"And why do they support Voldemort?"

"They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life," said Lupin. "And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there…"

"Who's Greyback?"

"You haven't heard of him?" Lupin's hands closed convulsively in his lap. "Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive today. He regards it as his mission in life to bite and to contaminate as many humans as possible; he wants to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. Voldemort has promised him prey in return for his services. Greyback specializes in children… 'Bite them young,' he says, and raise them away from their parents, raise them to hate ordinary wizards…Voldemort has threatened to unleash him upon people's sons and daughters; it is a threat that usually produces good results."

Lupin paused and then said, "It was Greyback who bit me."

"What?" said Harry, astonished. "When you were younger?"

"Yes. My father had offended him. I did not know, for a very long time, the identity of the werewolf who had attacked me; I even felt pity for him, thinking that he had had no control, knowing by then how it felt to transform. But Greyback is not like that. At the full moon, he positions himself close to victims, ensuring that he is near enough to strike. He plans it all. And this is the man Voldemort is using to marshal the werewolves. I cannot pretend that my particular brand of reasoned argument is making much headway against Greyback's insistence that we werewolves deserve blood — that we ought to seek revenge on normal people."

"But you are normal!" said Harry fiercely. "You've just got a — a rare condition —"

Lupin burst out laughing. "Sometimes you remind me a lot of James. He called it my 'furry little problem' in company. Many people were under the impression that I owned a badly behaved rabbit."

Harry laughed. "Well, you take care of yourself," he said becoming serious. "Be careful."

Lupin gave him a wry smile. "Believe me, Harry. I know better than most the dangers of werewolves. I'm only sorry I haven't been able to see you more."

They spent the rest of the afternoon chatting with Remus and forgot all about dinner. So they went into the kitchens to fetch some food. Dobby was most pleased to see them all and Lupin, being the kindhearted man he was, garnered much adoration from the house-elf.

Harry asked Lupin if he had ever heard of anyone called the Half-Blood Prince but alas, he had heard of no such person.

Soon after, Remus bade them farewell. Harry was glad he had come. It had been good to see him. He worried about how his former professor was being treated 'underground' as Lupin put it.

"It's too bad he didn't know who the Prince was," Ron said.

Harry agreed whole-heartedly. "I may never find out who he is," he observed sullenly as he inspected the said book. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, and it frustrated Harry to no end that he couldn't puzzle the pieces of this mystery together.

"How do you know for sure it's a he? It could just as easily be a girl," argued Hermione.

Harry shook his head, "I'm sure this guy's a bloke."

"Oh, so because _she_ is incredibly smart, she had to be a guy?"

"Of course, not Hermione. How could I think that, being friends with you?"

"I dunno," said Ron grabbing the corner of the book and tilting it towards him, "the handwriting's kinda girly."

"No, it's not, it's just not a sloppy mess like yours," teased Harry. "Just because it's legible, doesn't automatically qualify it as being girl's handwriting."

Ron smacked Harry in the back of the head for that one.

At the still stern look on Hermione's face, Harry quickly explained, "It's not that at all, Hermione. You know that. It's just — the way he talks, it's definitely gotta be a guy."

"Hmph."

"And it's the Half-Blood _Prince_. How many girls call themselves princes?"

Hermione seemed to have no answer to this.

. *** .

That Friday was New Year's, and the four of them had the whole castle to themselves. Harry supposed there might be a few other people at Hogwarts, but they never ran into them. They did bump into Tonks again, who expressed her immense displeasure that Lupin had visited the castle without telling her. The four of them pondered this, and decided that it was best not to get involved. After the weekend, all of the students would return. Harry was anxious for the school year to resume; it was high time that he retrieved that memory from Slughorn, and he was eager to continue his lessons with Dumbledore.

On Monday, Harry was determined to speak to Slughorn after Potions that morning. He had put his best effort into the lesson, answering as many questions as he could (to Hermione's annoyance) and producing the perfect concoction. Slughorn was indeed in a good mood, but once Harry approached him after class, he again tried to evade him. Harry wouldn't stand for it this time.

"Harry! I'm quite sorry," Slughorn said when Harry asked if he could have a moment of his time. "I've got errands to be running along. Maybe another time —"

"No. Professor, I know you've been avoiding me. And I know why."

"I don't know what you're talking —"

"Professor. I need that memory. I _have_ to have it."

"You've already seen it! And you know that —"

"That's not the true memory and you know it!" Harry would normally be more respectful towards a professor, but Slughorn just wouldn't see reason. "We need that information, Dumbledore and I… it will be a key to defeating Voldemort." Slughorn, as Harry expected, jumped about a foot in the air upon hearing his name.

"But then… my dear boy… you're asking a great deal… you are asking me, in fact, to aid you in your attempt to destroy —"

"Of course I am! Sir, you know what he's done. He killed my parents! And many others! Don't you care about that?"

"Of course, of course, it's terrible, it is. But —"

"But what? You're afraid for your own safety?" Slughorn did not answer, which told Harry everything.

"My mother, you said she was one of your favorite students."

Slughorn nodded his head meekly.

"She died to save me, but you won't even give me a memory," Harry said plainly.

"My dear boy, please —"

"And she didn't have to either… I can hear my parents' deaths when I get near to a dementor. She didn't have to die; Voldemort gave her the chance to surrender, as long as he could have me."

"That's enough… She didn't have to — how awful… I'm an old man… I don't need to hear — want to hear…"

"She wouldn't move though. She begged for him to leave me alone; she didn't care if she died, but she wouldn't let him have me," Harry plowed on mercilessly. "He laughed at her… he laughed at her, and then he killed her."

"Please… stop…"

"I want to destroy the man who did this, and did this to countless other families… but I need your help. I need that memory," Harry pushed.

"Please, I can't…"

"But you can. Think about my mother. What would she have done?"

"I'm-I'm not brave like your mother."

"You have to try. I'm not asking for you to give up your life, just a memory."

"I'm not proud," he whispered. "I am ashamed of what — of what that memory shows… I think I may have done great damage that day…"

"You'd cancel out anything you did by giving me the memory," Harry was quick to say. "Whatever he did, it wasn't your fault. He alone decided to murder, to kill people. And you can prevent more murders, murders like my mother's, if you just give me the memory." Harry could tell, he was so close to giving in.

Harry waited patiently, then, very slowly, Slughorn put his hand in his pocket and drew out his wand. He took out a small, empty bottle with his other hand and, looking into Harry's eyes, touched the tip of his wand to his temple and withdrew it so that a long, silver thread of memory came away too, clinging to the wand tip. Longer and longer the memory stretched until it broke and swung, silvery bright, from the wand. Slughorn lowered it into the bottle where it coiled, then spread, swirling like gas. He corked the bottle with a trembling hand and then held it out to Harry.

"Thank you, Professor. I know it wasn't easy."

"You're a good boy," said Professor Slughorn, tears trickling down his fat cheeks into his walrus mustache. "You've got her eyes, too… you're mother's… Just don't think too badly of me once you've seen it…"

"I don't blame you for anything. My fight is with Voldemort, and Voldemort alone."

"Thank you, Harry," he thought he heard Slughorn whisper, tears still leaking into his mustache.

Harry walked out of the potions classroom and stared at the bottle of swirling memory. Feeling victorious, he gripped the vial one last time before depositing it to a safe place in his backpack. He'd be a little late to Charms, but that was a small price to pay to finally lay his hands on what Dumbledore assured him was the all-important memory — the key to defeating Voldemort.

Harry could hardly wait to get out of Charms. Impatient as he was to tell Dumbledore the good news, he was sorely tempted to just skip class. As it was, his fidgeting did not go unnoticed by his ever-observant friend, Hermione. "You're not paying very much attention today, Harry," she chided.

He didn't waste time telling her what happened. "I got the memory."

"You did?"

He nodded his head in affirmation. "Oh, Harry, that's great!" she exclaimed. "You have to tell me all about it later," she added in undertones, as Flitwick had begun lecturing them once more.

Once class was over, Harry practically ran to Dumbledore's office, hoping beyond hope that Dumbledore was in his office. "Enter," said a voice when Harry knocked on the door atop the spiraling staircase. Relief and excitement flooded Harry upon hearing Dumbledore's voice.

"Harry? What a pleasant surprise."

"I've got it, sir. I got the memory," he said, pulling out the tiny glass bottle to show it to Dumbledore.

"But this is spectacular news! Very well done, Harry, I knew you could do it."

Dumbledore retrieved the Pensieve and added in the new memory. "After you, Harry."

Harry bowed obediently over the Pensieve and felt his feet leave the office floor… Once again he fell through darkness and landed in Horace Slughorn's office many years before. There was the much younger Slughorn, with his thick, shiny, straw-colored hair and his gingery-blond mustache, sitting again in the comfortable winged armchair in his office, his feet resting upon a velvet pouffe, a small glass of wine in one hand, the other rummaging in a box of crystallized pineapple. And there were the half dozen teenage boys sitting around Slughorn with Tom Riddle in the midst of them, Marvolo's gold-and-black ring gleaming on his finger.

Dumbledore landed beside Harry just as Riddle asked, "Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"

"Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Slughorn, wagging his finger reprovingly at Riddle, though winking at the same time. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are."

Riddle smiled as the other boys laughed along.

"What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite —" Several of the boys tittered again. "— I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple; I have excellent contacts at the Ministry."

Tom Riddle merely smiled as the others laughed again. Harry noticed that he was by no means the eldest of the group of boys, but that they all seemed to look to him as their leader.

"I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing."

A couple of the boys around him smirked at each other. Harry was sure they were enjoying a private joke, undoubtedly about what they knew, or suspected, regarding their gang leader's famous ancestor.

"Nonsense," said Slughorn briskly, "couldn't be plainer you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet."

The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around.

"Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery."

One by one, the boys filed out of the room. Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him look around; Riddle was still standing there.

"Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect…"

"Sir, I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away…"

"Sir, I wondered what you know about… about Horcruxes?'

Slughorn stared at him, his thick ringers absentmindedly clawing the stem of his wine glass.

"Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?"

But Harry could tell that Slughorn knew perfectly well that this was not schoolwork.

"Not exactly, sir," said Riddle. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it. There didn't seem to be much about it, it seems like an obscure branch of magic."

"No, well… you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn.

"But you obviously know about them then, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I'd —"

It was very well done, thought Harry, the hesitancy, the casual tone, the careful flattery, none of it overdone. He, Harry, had had too much experience of trying to wheedle information out of reluctant people not to recognize a master at work. He could tell that Riddle wanted the information very, very much; perhaps had been working toward this moment for weeks.

"Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course — just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul."

"I don't quite understand how that works, sir," said Riddle.

His voice was carefully controlled, but Harry could sense his excitement.

"Well, you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form…"

Harry found himself remembering words he had heard nearly two years before: _I was ripped from my body, I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost… but still, I was alive_.

Now, Slughorn looked carefully at the boy who would later become Lord Voldemort. "Few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."

Harry could see that he was having a hard time hiding his hunger. His expression exhibited flashes emotion and, if you didn't blink, his longing became evident.

"And how does one split the soul?"

"Well," said Slughorn uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."

"But by what process does this occur?"

"By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil: by committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage; He would encase the torn portion —"

"Encase? How is that done?"

"There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" said Slughorn shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. "Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a killer?"

"No, sir, of course not," said Riddle quickly. "I'm sorry… I was just curious… I didn't mean to offend…"

"Not at all, not at all, I'm not offended," Slughorn said gruffly, "It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things… Wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic…"

"Yes, sir," said Riddle. He paused for a moment. "The splitting of souls, can it only be done once? Theoretically, couldn't the process be repeated? For instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven be best to— ?"

"Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case, it's bad enough to divide the soul, but to rip it into seven pieces…"

Slughorn looked deeply troubled now. He was gazing at Riddle as though he had never seen him plainly before, and Harry could tell that he was regretting entering into the conversation at all.

"Of course," he muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic…"

"Of course, sir," Riddle said as if it were the most obvious thing.

"All the same, Tom… Keep it quiet, what I've told — that is to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know… Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it…"

"I understand, sir," said Riddle, "You needn't worry, I won't say anything to anyone."

"Good, good,"Slughorn said absentmindedly.

As Riddle turned to leave, Harry had glimpsed his face, which was full of that same wild happiness similar to when he had first found out that he was a wizard, the sort of happiness that did not enhance his handsome features, but made them, somehow, less human…

"Thank you, Harry," said Dumbledore quietly. "And now, it is time for us to go…"

When Harry landed back on the office floor Dumbledore was already sitting down behind his desk. Harry sat too and waited for Dumbledore to speak.

"I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long time," said Dumbledore at last. "It confirms the theory on which I have been working, it tells me that I am right, and also how very far there is still to go… I am sure you understood the significance of what we just heard. At the same age as you are now, give or take a few months, Tom Riddle was doing all he could to find out how to make himself immortal."

"You think he succeeded then, sir?" asked Harry. "He made a Horcrux? And that's why he didn't die when he attacked me? He had a Horcrux hidden somewhere? A bit of his soul was safe?"

"A bit… or more," said Dumbledore. "You heard Voldemort. What he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who created more than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know — as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew — no wizard had ever done more than tear his soul in two."

Dumbledore paused for a moment, marshaling his thoughts, then said, "Four years ago, I received what I considered confirmation that Voldemort had split his soul."

"Where?" asked Harry. "How?"

"You handed it to me, Harry," said Dumbledore. "The diary, Riddle's diary."

Harry waited patiently for Dumbledore to explain.

"Although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me was a phenomenon I had never before witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister was at work here…The diary had to be a Horcrux; I was almost sure of it. But this raised as many questions as it answered. What intrigued and alarmed me most was that that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard."

"The Chamber of Secrets," Harry realized.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "As well as serving its intended purpose — to protect and conceal the fragment of soul — it also seems that Voldemort wished for somebody to read the diary, and thus unleash Slytherin's monster once more, to complete its work."

"He just couldn't resist letting the world know who the true heir of Slytherin was. He probably couldn't stand it when everyone looked to Hagrid."

"Quite correct," said Dumbledore, nodding. "But don't you see, Harry, that if he intended the diary to be passed to, or planted on, some future Hogwarts student, he was being remarkably blasé about that precious fragment of his soul contained inside. The point of a Horcrux is, as Professor Slughorn explained, to keep part of the soul hidden and safe, not to brandish it about for just anyone's use. Doing so runs the risk that it might be destroyed — which indeed happened: that particular fragment of soul is no more; you saw to that. The careless way in which Voldemort regarded this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made — or had been planning to make — more Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. Then you told me, two years later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and troubling statement to his Death Eaters. 'I who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality.' That was what you told me he said. 'Further than anybody!' And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death Eaters did not. He was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, Harry, which I don't believe any other wizard has ever possessed. Yet it fit, Lord Voldomort has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call 'usual evil'…"

"So he's made himself impossible to kill by murdering other people?" said Harry. "Why not find another way to do it?"

"Well, we know that he tried to do just that, five years ago," said Dumbledore. "But there are several reasons why, I think, say a Sorcerer's Stone would appeal less than Horcruxes to Lord Voldemort. While the Elixir of Life does indeed extend life, it must be drunk regularly, for all eternity, if the drinker is to maintain the immortality. Therefore, Voldemort would be entirely dependent on the Elixir and if it ran out, or if the Stone were stolen, he would die like any other man. Voldemort likes to operate alone, remember. I believe that he would have found the thought of being dependent, even on the Elixir, intolerable. Of course, he was prepared to drink it if it would take him out of the horrible part-life to which he was condemned after attacking you, but only to regain a body. Thereafter, I am convinced he intended to continue to rely on his Horcruxes. He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was already immortal, you see — or as close to immortal as any man can be. But now, Harry, armed with this information, the crucial memory you have succeeded in procuring for us, we are closer to the secret of defeating Lord Voldemort than anyone has ever been before. You heard him, Harry: 'Isn't seven the most powerfully magical number… Wouldn't seven be best?' Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort."

"He made seven Horcruxes?" said Harry, horror-struck, while several of the portraits on the walls (who Harry now noticed were listening intently to the conversation) made similar noises of shock and outrage. "But they could be anywhere in the world — hidden — buried or invisible —"

"I am glad to see you appreciate the magnitude of the problem," said Dumbledore calmly. "But firstly, no, Harry, not seven Horcruxes: six. The seventh part of his soul, however maimed, resides inside his regenerated body. That was the part of him that lived a spectral existence for so many years during his exile; without that, he has no self at all. That seventh piece of soul will be the last that anybody wishing to kill Voldemort must attack — the piece that lives in his body."

"But that still leaves five Horcruxes, then," said Harry, a little desperately, "how are we supposed to find them?"

"And I believe I am close to discovering the location of at least two others."

"You are?"Harry asked eagerly.

"Yes, and the two objects in question are items which you have already seen."

"I have?" asked Harry, perplexed.

"Yes. Understand, Harry, that Voldemort would not let simply an ordinary object guard his precious soul; it would not be worthy of the honor. Remember, he liked to collect trophies, and preferred objects with a powerful magical history. His pride, his belief in his own superiority and his ambition to carve himself a place in history suggests to me that Voldemort would have chosen his Horcruxes with some care. Can you not remember, Harry, the two items that were of particular importance to Marvolo Gaunt, one of which we know mysteriously disappeared?"

"The ring… and the locket."

"Precisely, Harry. I searched in vain for one of the Horcruxes, possibly the ring, at the Gaunts' old residence, but alas, I was unable to find any information — it is well protected. There is another site that I believe I am close to locating… As well as only allowing the most worthy objects contain parts of his soul, it would also seem as if he finds places of particular significance in which to hide them. These locations are also bound to have in place many enchantments to ensure the protection of the Horcrux. I think… perhaps… I may be close to finding one. There are hopeful signs."

"Is that why you've been leaving the school?"

"That would be correct." said Dumbledore.

"And if you find one," said Harry quickly, "can I go with you?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry very intently for a moment before saying, "Yes, I think so."

"I can?" said Harry, thoroughly taken aback.

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore, smiling slightly. "I think you have earned that right."

Harry felt his heart lift. It was very good not to hear words of caution and protection for once. The headmasters and head-mistresses around the walls seemed less impressed by Dumbledore's decision; Harry saw a few of them shaking their heads and Phineas Nigellus actually snorted.

But Harry ignored all of this. "What about the three other Horcruxes?"

"I am not sure, but I believe that Tom's connection to Hogwarts played a role. I have received confirmation that certain artifacts inexplicably disappeared around Tom Riddle, I will show you this in a later lesson. No one, of course, believed it was him," explained Dumbledore. "And I think I know the identity of at least one more of the Horcruxes. I wonder what you will say when I confess that I have been curious for a while about the behavior of the snake, Nagini?'

"The snake?" said Harry, startled. "You can use animals as Horcruxes?"

"It is possible, but it is inadvisable to do so," said Dumbledore. "To confide a part of your soul to something that can think and move for itself is obviously a very risky business. However, if my calculations are correct, Voldemort was still at least one Horcrux short of his goal of six when he entered your parents' house with the intention of killing you. He seems to have reserved the process of making Horcruxes for particularly significant deaths. You would certainly have been that. He believed that in killing you, he was destroying the danger the prophecy had outlined. He believed he was making himself invincible. I am sure that he was intending to make his final Horcrux with your death. As we know, he failed. After an interval of some years, however, he used Nagini to kill an old Muggle man, and it might then have occurred to him to turn her into his last Horcrux. She underlines the Slytherin connection, which enhances Lord Voldemorts mystique; I think he is perhaps as fond of her as he can be of anything; he certainly likes to keep her close, and he seems to have an unusual amount of control over her, even for a Parselmouth."

"Does Voldemort know when a Horcrux is destroyed, sir? Can he feel it?"asked Harry.

"A very interesting question, Harry," said Dumbledore, "but I believe not. I believe that these crucial parts of Voldemort have been detached for so long, he does not feel as we do. Perhaps, at the point of death, he might be aware of his loss… but he was not aware, for instance, that the diary had been destroyed until he forced the truth out of Lucius Malfoy. When Voldemort discovered that the diary had been mutilated and robbed of all its powers, I am told that his anger was terrible to behold."

"But I thought he meant for him to smuggle it into Hogwarts."

"Yes, he did, years ago; but still Lucius was supposed to wait for Voldemort's authorization which he never received, for Voldemort vanished shortly after giving him the diary. No doubt he thought that Lucius would not dare do anything with the Horcrux other than guard it carefully, but he was counting too much upon Lucius's fear of a master who had been gone for years and whom Lucius believed dead. Of course, Lucius was not aware of the true nature of the diary. I understand that Voldemort had told him the diary would cause the Chamber of Secrets to reopen because it was cleverly enchanted. Had Lucius known he held a portion of his master's soul in his hands, he would undoubtedly have treated it with more reverence — but instead he went ahead and carried out the old plan for his own ends. By planting the diary upon Arthur Weasley's daughter, he hoped to discredit Arthur and discard of a highly incriminating magical object in one fell stroke. Ah, poor Lucius… what with Voldemort's fury over the Horcrux and the fiasco at the Ministry last year, I would not be surprised if Lucius is secretly glad to be safe in Azkaban at the moment."

Harry sat in thought for a moment then asked, "And if all of his Horcruxes are destroyed, Voldemort could be killed?"

"Yes, I think so," said Dumbledore. "Without his Horcruxes, Voldemort will be a mortal man with a maimed and diminished soul. Never forget, though, that while his soul may be damaged beyond repair, his brain and his magical powers remain intact. It will take uncommon skill and power to kill a wizard like Voldemort even without his Horcruxes."

"But I don't have uncommon skill and power," Harry said before he could stop himself.

"Yes, you do," said Dumbledore firmly. "You have a power that Voldemort cannot understand — a power that he does not possess."

"I know!" said Harry impatiently. "I can love!" It was only with great difficulty that he stopped himself adding, 'Big deal!'

"Yes, Harry, you can love," said Dumbledore, who looked as though he knew perfectly well what Harry had just refrained from saying. "Which, given everything that has happened to you, is a great and remarkable thing. You are still too young to understand how unusual you are, Harry."

"But couldn't the prophecy refer to something else as well?" asked Harry, feeling a little let down.

"It may; however, your ability to love is by far your most valuable asset," said Dumbledore. "But Harry, never forget that what the prophecy says is only significant because Voldemort made it so. I told you this at the end of last year. Voldemort singled you out as the person who would be most dangerous to him — and in doing so, he made you the person who would be most dangerous to him!"

"But it comes to the same —"

"No, it does not!" cried Dumbledore, sounding impatient now. "You are setting too much store by the prophecy!"

"But," spluttered Harry, "but you said the prophecy means —"

"If Voldemort had never heard of the prophecy, would it have been fulfilled? Would it have meant anything? Of course not! Do you think every prophecy in the Hall of Prophecy has been fulfilled?"

"But," said Harry, bewildered, "but last year, you said one of us would have to kill the other —"

"Harry, Harry, only because Voldemort made a grave error, and acted on Professor Trelawney's words! If Voldemort had never murdered your father, would he have imparted in you a furious desire for revenge? Of course not! If he had not forced your mother to die for you, would he have given you a magical protection he could not penetrate? Of course not, Harry! Don't you see? Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do! Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress? All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one who rises against them and strikes back! Voldemort is no different! Always he was on the lookout for the one who would challenge him. He heard the prophecy and he leapt into action, with the result that he not only handpicked the man most likely to finish him, he handed him uniquely deadly weapons!"

"But —"

"It is essential that you understand this!" said Dumbledore, standing up and striding about the room, his glittering robes swooshing in his wake; Harry had never seen him so agitated. "By attempting to kill you, Voldemort himself singled out the remarkable person who sits before me, and gave him the tools for the job! It is only through Voldemort's doing that you were able to see into his thoughts, his ambitions, that you even understand the snakelike language in which he gives orders, and yet, Harry, despite your privileged insight into Voldemort's world — which, incidentally, is a gift any Death Eater would kill to have — you have never been seduced by the Dark Arts, never, even for a second, shown the slightest desire to become one of Voldemort's followers!"

"Of course I haven't!" said Harry indignantly. "He killed my mum and dad!"

"You are protected, in short, by your ability to love!" said Dumbledore loudly. "The only protection that can possibly work against the lure of power like Voldemort's! In spite of all the temptation you have endured, all the suffering, you remain pure of heart, just as pure as you were at the age of eleven, when you stared into a mirror that reflected your heart's desire, and it showed you only the way to thwart Lord Voldemort, not immortality or riches. Harry, have you any idea how few wizards could have seen what you saw in that mirror? Voldemort should have known then what he was dealing with, but he did not! But he knows it now. You have drifted into Lord Voldemort's mind without damage to yourself, but he cannot possess you without enduring mortal agony, as he discovered in the Ministry. I do not think he understands why, Harry, but then, he was in such a hurry to mutilate his own soul, he never paused to understand the incomparable power of a soul that is untarnished and whole."

"But, sir," said Harry, making valiant efforts not to sound argumentative, "it all comes down to the same thing, doesn't it? I have to try and kill him, or —"

"Have to?" said Dumbledore. "Of course you have to! But not because of the prophecy! Because you, yourself, will never rest until you've tried! We both know it! Imagine, please, just for a moment, that you had never heard that prophecy! How would you feel about Voldemort now? Think!"

Harry watched Dumbledore striding up and down in front of him, and thought. He thought of his mother, his father, and Sinus. He thought of Cedric Diggory. He thought of all the terrible deeds he knew Lord Voldemort had done. How could he do anything but fight? To do anything else was cowardice, plain and simple. He'd essentially be leaving all of his friends and everyone he cared for high and dry. And that was simply unacceptable. A flame seemed to leap inside his chest, searing his throat.

"I'd want him finished," said Harry quietly. "And I'd want to be the one do it."

"Of course you would!" cried Dumbledore. "You see, the prophecy does not mean you _have_ to do anything! But the prophecy caused Lord Voldemort to mark you as his equal… In other words, you are free to choose your way, quite free to turn your back on the prophecy! But Voldemort continues to set store by the prophecy. He will continue to hunt you… which makes it certain, really, that —"

"That one of us is going to end up killing the other," said Harry. "Yes."

But he understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little difference between the two, especially if the end result was the same; but Dumbledore knew. _And so do I_, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, _and so did my parents_. And that made all the difference in the world.

. *** .

Later that day, he was slated for another lesson with Snape. Currently, the professor was explaining the minutiae of Occlumency.

"There are different methods in which to protect your mind. The simplest form, which I believe you can now execute sufficiently, is to prohibit the invader from attacking your mind — or outer defense, as it is commonly referred to. Of course, if you are unable to prevent the attacker from entering your mind, it becomes a matter of whether or not you can expel the unwanted presence from your mind. This presents an obvious issue, which I should hope you can spot."

"They could find out what they need to before you can force them out."

Snape gave a curt nod. "Yes. In those moments, the Legilimens will be privy to your every thought, feeling, and memory — it does not take the skilled and sufficiently experienced Legilimens long to find what he or she needs, as the Dark Lord certainly is; that is why we will be moving to the discipline of honing your inner defenses. The further and deeper the assault probes into your mind, the more difficult it will become to resist the attacker and maintain control of your own mind. There are many techniques; we will start with the most straight-forward methods. Once you have mastered those, we will move on to more subtle approaches. The most basic tool of inner defense is to simply guard certain memories, and allow the irrelevant memories to be at the surface of your mind. This will not be much different in execution as employing outer defense techniques. I expect you to pick this up relatively quickly. From there, we can work on a similar method in which you use your memories to deceive the enemy into believing a false version of the truth. In other words, you will be changing the context of your memories. The hardest and most difficult concept to grasp, which I am not sure you'll get to, is to create what are called projections. Here, you will construct memories from various thoughts and memories from your past. It is a delicate process. You must select details in such a way that the invader believes that what he or she is seeing is true, or, in other words, convincingly realistic. They must believe they are extracting the memory they are searching for so that the Legilimens is not aware you are Occluding. There are many ways to do this. For instance, you may take the setting of one memory, yet use the content, say the dialogue, of a completely different memory and integrate the components together. You must take care to be consistent and make sure nothing seems out of place. You will project not only images, but sensations, feelings, and emotions that are associated with a particular memory. The memory you construct must bear an unerring resemblance to your real memories; it must be seamless. Never simply conjure something from your imagination. The first rule of this form of Occlumency is that one cannot adequately portray an object, place or person that you have never seen or experienced. They will know you are lying. Even harder to do, is to weave and intertwine memories and thoughts completely, so that no one specific detail can be attributed to a certain memory, but rather, a large network of ideas. This nexus you create can also be used to manipulate the consequent actions of the assailant. But for now, we will focus on the first technique I mentioned."

Harry tried very hard to take all of this in…

"I also believe that we should soon begin your training in the art of Legilimency."

"You think I need to learn Legilimency, sir?"

"I believe it would be to your advantage." He drew himself to his full height, now in complete teacher mode. "Legilimency is more complex. It is far more difficult to control the environment of another's mind, than your own. This should be obvious, as you are clearly more familiar with your own mind than that of another's." He paused briefly. "Are you ready to begin?"

"What are we doing today, sir?"

Snape considered Harry for a moment. "We can either continue refining your technique in Occlumency, or you can begin your instruction in the basics of Legilimency."

"Really?" asked Harry eagerly.

"I believe that we have done all that is absolutely necessary for the mean time in regards to Occlumency. The important thing is that you can keep the Dark Lord out of your mind, which you have now accomplished. Obviously, you will need to master the complexities of Occlumency further down the road, but for now, I actually believe that exploring the art of Legilimency will be a helpful tool for you to better understand Occlumency."

"Then… can we work on Legilimency today?"

"We can."

Harry was excited. He didn't think he'd be learning Legilimency. It could be a useful tool and it might be a little bit more fun to learn.

"What do I do?" asked Harry.

"You know the incantation; let's see what you can do."

"Oh, um, okay…" he cleared his throat. "_Legilimens!_"

Nothing happened.

"Try again."

This time he tried with all his might, trying to breach Snape's inner defenses. His efforts were met with the same results. He tried again. And again. He was beginning to get frustrated, now thinking he was wrong for believing that this would be more enjoyable than Occlumency. Why didn't Snape do anything?

Finally, Harry asked, "What am I doing wrong?"

"Nothing. Your first attempt was ineffective; you must do more than simply speak the incantation. After that I detected your presence pressing onto my mind. You simply aren't practiced enough to break through my defenses. Did you really think that you could without proper training and practice?"

"Well, no. But I didn't feel anything. Why didn't you tell me? I didn't think I was doing anything at all," Harry said somewhat moodily. He was a little dismayed that his attempts affected Snape as little as a fly to an elephant.

"Because it is good practice for you; I would appreciate it if you kept your critiques concerning my teaching methods to a minimum," Snape answered in kind.

Before Harry could respond Snape said, "I will now lower my defenses and allow you entry and we will go from there."

At first this surprised Harry that Snape would even consider this, then he realized that there was no way that he could best Snape, who had to hide things from Voldemort. The only reason Harry had succeeded last year was because he had used a shield charm and caught Snape off guard.

"Legilimens!"

Harry could detect a difference this time, he could feel Snape's presence, and he eagerly pushed forward into Snape's mind. But no sooner than he felt this sensation, did it vanish. What went wrong this time?

"I thought —"

"You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Potter, I am not accustomed to willingly allowing people enter my mind; I simply reacted. Now, try again."

Harry tried again. This time, he met no resistance. It was utterly different from being on the other end. It was like he was in a vast, foreign world that was strangely familiar at the same time.

Harry tried exploring the alien territory, but found he had almost no control over what he did and where he went next. Memories flitted by in momentary flashes — mainly comprising of occurrences in his classes with Snape both from the past and present. Soon, Harry felt like he was suffocating, like he was in a deep, dark ocean with nowhere to go. With some difficulty, he withdrew from Snape's mind. He got the feeling that Snape could have trapped him there and smothered him if he had so wished.

Afterwards, Snape explained the basics of Legilimency and Harry tried again. It was good skill to have, thought Harry. He didn't get too discouraged that he couldn't win the battle of wills with Snape, who was a very accomplished Occlumens. He thought by the lesson's end he had improved some, which was heartening.

"Be sure that you do not abuse this new ability," Snape warned. "To enter another's mind without permission is not only highly unethical and disrespectful, but also potentially dangerous.

"Of course, not," Harry responded adamantly.

Apparently satisfied, Snape gave him a brisk nod and dismissed him.

"Professor?"

"Yes," said Snape looking back, surprised that Harry hadn't left yet. If Harry was honest with himself, he thought Snape looked impatient, which was to be expected, but also a bit uncomfortable. Harry didn't have the faintest idea why, but his Defense professor tended to act oddly whenever Harry initiated any semi-casual conversation, leading Harry to believe that Snape was even more of a hermit than he originally thought; or maybe Snape was simply afraid of being contaminated with Gryffindorishness.

"Do you think he's beatable — that we can defeat him?" Harry didn't know why, but he needed to hear it from someone who didn't put what Harry felt was a gratuitous amount of faith in him; and Snape certainly fulfilled that criteria. True, Harry didn't completely trust him, but he needed some form of confirmation.

If Snape looked surprised before, that was nothing compared to right now. The more time Harry spent with him, the more he realized that Snape did sometimes express emotion if you paid enough attention. He seemed to be considering his words carefully. "I wouldn't be doing what I do if I did not believe he could be defeated," he said slowly.

_Eliminate the double negative and it would sound confident_, Harry thought. Still, it was as definitive an answer as he was ever going to get out of Snape. Harry nodded. "Goodnight, Professor," he said after a short pause, turning the knob to the door.

"Good night."

. *** .

On Wednesday, the N.E.W.T. level sixth years had Defense Against the Dark Arts. Class went smoothly. That was, until the end of class. Someone had dropped their book, so Hermione bent down to retrieve it. "You dropped your book," she said, holding it out as she packed her bag with the other hand, not looking up or really noticing that it was Malfoy sitting in the aisle beside her.

"Thanks," said Malfoy, not thinking about whom it was handing him his book. Then he realized the other Slytherins were looking at him oddly and confusedly. It hit him how this might look, but he must maintain his reputation. He had let his behavior around Granger during detentions slip into the classroom. Well, he would be putting an end to that. She was distracting him away from completing his mission. He had to save his parents… his mother. "Don't you dare touch my possessions, Mudblood!" he said angrily, ripping the book out of her hands viciously.

"That word is _not_ acceptable in this classroom, Mister Malfoy! You will do detention with me _tonight_, and it will not be pleasant for you," raged Snape. He looked very irate, which piqued Harry's curiosity. Surely, he was used to such language as a spy and as the Head of Slytherin house?

Draco, however, was not paying much attention to Snape; he was watching Hermione and he saw the shock in her eyes and also, the hurt. But she recovered quickly hissing, "As you wish, your Slytherin Highness," her voice shook, whether it was with anger or something more, Draco wasn't sure. But he thought he saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes as she rushed out of the room, which only one other pair of eyes in the room were aware of, for no one else said anything about it.

"What is wrong with you?" demanded Potter. "She was only trying to help. _Why_ she would want to help a loser like you, I have no idea."

"I don't even think she knew it was your book, Malfoy," said Ron, who had been sitting right next to Hermione. "But you're lucky she didn't smack you in the face with it, the way you always treat her," added Ron. "Luckily, I'm here to do that," he threatened menacingly, advancing towards Malfoy. This time, Harry didn't stop him. He had had enough, too. Hermione didn't deserve that kind of treatment, and Malfoy was about to learn why.

"If either of you take a step closer, I will see to it that you spend detention with me. Not something I think any of you would enjoy, in fact, I would even go as far as to say I will make sure that you don't," Snape warned in a low voice before the two boys advanced any further.

For a few moments, it looked like Ron would resist anyway and to hell with detention. But then Potter said to Weasley, "Come on, then. This piece of scum isn't worth it." With one last snarl, the red-headed boy left.

Draco dithered on the spot and then finally left, too, followed by his fellow Slytherins.

The other set of eyes that saw what had transpired in its entirety belonged to none other than Severus Snape. He was furious at Draco for jeopardizing everything. Severus was not unaware of the parallels between his years at Hogwarts and the young Malfoy's. Certainly, Draco had attained popularity and on appearance, it might seem as if Malfoy had caring parents. But really it was not any less broken than was his own. It was only their opulence that informed this perception.

While Draco certainly wasn't bullied as Severus was, his cohort of Slytherins were no more friends to him than were the people Severus associated with whilst at Hogwarts. It was a means of getting what you wanted, nothing more. Severus had had one true friend, and he had ruined that forever. Draco had finally found someone — Severus wouldn't consider them friends — but someone who cared, not because it was his or her job description, but simply because she did. Certainly Draco had never before formed anything so close to a meaningful relationship. Severus was not dense, as everyone very well knows. He could perceive the changes in behavior toward one another during the time the two had spent in detention with him, and it was his hope that Miss Granger could do what Severus himself had so far failed to do: to convince Draco Malfoy to turn away from the path he was currently placed upon. He needed someone who cared, yes, but Draco would never believe this was the case with his professor, and as it was, Severus had limited ways to do this as he could not let on that he was, in fact, a double-spy. No, Draco needed someone who was not an authority figure. Miss Granger presented a liberation that Severus could not.

But the young Malfoy was on his way to erasing that as Severus had many years ago. It was the same word uttered by Draco that finally drove Lily away; not because of what he had said to her, but because it was then that she realized that she couldn't support the very premise behind Severus' willingness to pronounce his tolerance of a certain ideology in uttering that one word. It pained him to watch Draco throw away his life; it was almost like reliving Lily abandoning their friendship all over again.

. *** .

Hermione ran out of Snape's classroom. She was upset that she was upset. She believed that Malfoy had gotten better. Harry was right; she was too willing to trust people. She had even defended the bastard, felt sorry for him. She was angry with herself for believing she could change someone. It had been so naïve — and she accused Harry of having 'saving people thing?' How she had even let herself believe Malfoy was halfway decent — how she had allowed herself to be tricked — it was unthinkable. Well, she wouldn't ever let that happen again. Angrily wiping away her tears, she didn't hear the pair of footsteps behind her…

Draco wasn't sure why he was following Granger, it's not like this hadn't happened before. He chalked it up to his damned curiosity. What was that stupid Muggle saying? 'Curiosity kills cats' or something like that. Unsurprisingly, she was headed to the library. He figured she was programmed to visit the place at least one a day. Draco felt a strange sensation upon seeing that he had made her cry. Whatever it was, he didn't like it, and he wasn't sure why that was. He just hated it when people cried; it spread misery like a disease. She didn't even notice when he came up to the table where she was sitting.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked. Why did he ask _that_? He shouldn't be here. He should just leave, but he found that he couldn't.

She looked up at him angrily, not even trying to hide the fact that she had been crying; it would have been too obvious. "What do you care? I'm just a stupid, filthy _Mudblood!_"she said bitterly.

Malfoy flinched slightly; it was quite different to have your insults thrown back at you, he reflected. For some reason, he couldn't stand the look of disgust she was giving him, like he was no more than a bug beneath her shoe, or else an ugly and hideous creature. In a flash, he realized it was the same look he saw in his own reflection whenever he thought of what he had become. He wanted nothing more than to wipe it from her face. "Hey, look… I'm sorry." Both seemed shocked with this statement, but Malfoy continued anyways, needing to justify himself. "I-I didn't mean it." Was he actually feeling bad? "Please, just — please, don't cry." Could it be that he didn't want to see _her_ crying? He pushed that thought aside. What he had realized is that he didn't mind talking with her, and that she was, in fact, probably the closest thing he had to a friend; which was odd because he didn't consider her a friend by a long shot. But Slytherins didn't make friends, they made acquaintances. Making connections were the important thing — receiving mutual benefit from the relationship.

He shouldn't be doing this, and he was on dangerous ground.

"If you don't want to see me cry — you probably don't want to see me at all — then why don't you just leave? Why are you even here? Just go!" Well she wasn't really crying anymore, she just seemed angry. But what Malfoy didn't realize is that it was mostly directed at herself, not at him. She was embarrassed; this was the second time he had caught her crying.

Her accusatory stare unnerved him. He backed out of the cluster of tables, into the stacks. It was for the best, he told himself as walked along the secluded rows of books. He needed to quit fooling around. He couldn't think about her, he had a job to do. Setting his jaw, he left the library without a backward glance.

. *** .

Soon, good news reached the student-body of Hogwarts, Katie Bell had finally recovered and when she returned to the Great Hall for the first time since the incident, it was to thunderous applause from not only the Gryffindor table (though it was by far the loudest), but Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, the staff, and even some of the Slytherins.

Harry joined with those clapping, standing with his fellow housemates to welcome Katie back. She and her friend Leanne walked in and made straight for him, Hermione and Ron. Once the clamor died down she gave Harry a quick hug and said, "Oh, Harry, I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't been there."

"It's good to have you back. You're feeling alright, then?"

"Yeah, I'm feeling great," she said, smiling. "It's definitely good to be back."

He hated bringing this up now, but he had to know. "Listen, Katie —" he began, dropping his voice.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said, anticipating Harry's question. "I have no idea who cursed me. The last thing I remember was going to the ladies' room and everything is blank until I woke up in the hospital wing."

Harry was a little disappointed, but quite happy to see Katie healthy and well.

Hermione, however, was paying attention to Malfoy. He had just walked into the Great Hall, and upon seeing Katie, froze. He looked like he was fighting some inner turmoil, almost frightened at seeing her there. Malfoy then turned around and began walking briskly back out of the entrance to the Great Hall.

Hermione went to follow him. There weren't very many reasons for him to react that way. "Hermione, what — ?" Ron started to ask, but she was soon lost among the crowd surrounding Katie.

She made it out into the hall just in time to see the tails of Malfoy's robes ascend the staircase. She followed as quietly as she could, making sure to go slowly enough that he wouldn't hear her or be able to look down and see her. Up the next flight, she was sure Malfoy got off at this level, but when she looked down the long hallway, there was no one in sight. She walked slowly down the halls, wondering if maybe he had continued up the stairs. But no, she would've heard him.

She stopped suddenly and perked her ears. It sounded like someone was sobbing; it seemed to be coming from the bathrooms normally haunted by Myrtle. This would not be odd except for the fact that it did not sound like Myrtle at all; whoever it was, their voice was much deeper. Concerned and curious, she quietly pushed open the door to the bathroom. At first she didn't quite believe what she was seeing. It was none other than Draco Malfoy. Crying no less. He was bent over the sink, gripping it on either side. Hermione was rooted onto the spot in shock. "Please — don't. I can help you. Just tell me what's wrong," came Myrtle's crooning voice from some unidentified location in the bathroom.

"No." It was Malfoy's voice this time. "No one can help me. I can't do it. I can't. But I have to, if I don't… He'll — he'll kill me," he stammered through his tears, which were falling into the sink in succession. Hermione gasped softly at the admission. Was he truly a Death Eater after all? She had suspected that might be the case, but she hadn't wanted to believe it; it still came as a shock. _Harry was right_. She quickly clapped her hands to her mouth, realizing her mistake, but too late: the damage was already done. Once he heard the sudden intake of air, his eyes snapped to the mirror. He could see her broken reflection in the fractured mirror. If he was surprised, that emotion rapidly gave way to the anger that was now etched on his face and seemed to be coursing through his veins. He wheeled around, drawing his wand. Hermione did the same.

He was quick, but so was Hermione. It seemed those DA sessions had really helped. And he didn't seem very emotionally stable at the moment, which gave her the advantage. She easily blocked his attack and after a few more unsuccessfully exchanged jinxes, Hermione had disarmed Malfoy. He became even more furious and started to advance towards her. She was still a bit shaken from the encounter and the knowledge that Malfoy was, in all likelihood, a Death Eater. Her frozen mind didn't respond and consequently, she performed no spell to prevent Malfoy from coming any closer to her. In two swift strides he grasped her upper arms, binding them in a vise-like grip.

Hermione's arms screamed in agony, almost leaving her in tears of pain. All she could see in Malfoy's face was sheer rage. His eyes were dark and hollow. She had detested Malfoy, but never before was she terrified of him like she was now. What she saw in his eyes absolutely frightened her. There was nothing.

"Please — stop," she whimpered, "you're hurting me." Something in his eyes flickered, something broke within him, and he relaxed his hold on her. Relief flooded through Hermione. For a moment, she was certain he would harm her. But soon, he had seized her by the shoulders, less tightly this time, and pinned her to the grimy, bathroom wall. The cold, hard wall was uncomfortable against her back. She knew she should probably scream for help, but something kept her from doing so. Myrtle had left. She was all alone in this rundown bathroom with Malfoy.

"How long?" he demanded. When she didn't answer he repeated his question louder and shook her slightly, "How long have you been here? What have you heard?!"

Tears of fear were threatening to spill from the aftershock. She had never believed that Malfoy would be capable of killing another person, but in that moment when his eyes were completely blank and devoid of all emotion, she had genuinely feared for her life. Now however, she could see that he was vulnerable and scared, hiding behind his anger.

"What's wrong? Please, tell me what's going on."

"I don't have to tell you anything! And if you tell anyone what you've seen —"

"What? What will you do?" she challenged, gaining confidence now. She had seen the hesitation when she had told him he was hurting her. He wouldn't do anything to her now, she was sure. "What will you do?" she questioned again. "Will you kill me? It's what you'll have to do as a Death Eater," she said, thrusting his left sleeve back to reveal the mark she was certain was there. The blackened skin in its twisted, grotesque form looked intrusive upon his pale skin.

His eyes widened, threaten to become clouded in anger once more. But before he could react, Hermione intervened. "You can't. You can't do it, can you?" she asked softly.

"You don't know _anything_ about me!"

"I know enough. I know that you are not capable of killing me, or anyone, Draco Malfoy."

A collage of emotions flashed through his eyes: anger, confusion, alarm, distress, uncertainty, hopelessness, and maybe just a touch of relief to finally confide in someone, even if that someone was Hermione Granger.

"You don't understand," he said almost pleadingly, "I have to do this, if I don't, He'll kill me and my family." The look in his eyes tugged at Hermione's heartstrings. He looked so lost and desperate. The fact that he was her archrival lay forgotten for the moment. For now, he was just a teenaged boy who had been tasked with an impossible situation; someone who was haunted by his past, his burden, and his future.

"What do you have to do?" she asked gently.

After his momentary lowering of his defensive walls, he abruptly became suspicious again.

Hermione wasn't quite sure why she wanted to help him so much. Maybe it was because she had begun to see the human side of Malfoy that she previously believed did not exist. No matter how despicable he had been, he didn't deserve this. He may be a Death Eater, but it seemed that it wasn't what he wanted after all. She felt that this moment was very important. If she didn't try to do something now, he would be swallowed into the abyss, lost to the darkness forever.

"Draco." The name felt strange on her tongue, yet somehow more befitting looking at the troubled boy standing before her. "Please, I'm not going to try and hurt you, or — get you in trouble or anything. But I need to know."

"Why?" he asked guardedly.

"I'm just trying to help you."

"Why would you want to help me? After all I've done to you," he asked, still disbelieving.

"Because not even you deserve this. And you haven't been _all_ that bad lately." She paused. "Look, I'm not going to force you to tell me. But… maybe we can help you."

"We?"

She didn't want to give too much away about the Order. "Yes, the people working against Voldemort." Malfoy stiffened a little at the mention of his master's name. "There must be a way out of your situation. We could keep you and your family safe. I bet Dumbledore would know what to do." At the mention Dumbledore, he jerked much more noticeably, which both surprised and intrigued Hermione. "No," he said resolutely, "not Dumbledore."

"But why not? I know he's not your favorite person, but I know he would be more than willing to help you. He cares about all of his students. And I'm sure he'd find a way to protect —"

"I can't go to him! He can't help me. No one can," he asserted stubbornly, suddenly on the defensive again.

Hermione had no idea why he was being so obstinate in refusing help. Dumbledore of course, wouldn't approve of Draco being a Death Eater, but he would surely support Draco if he explained the situation. Hermione was certain he could protect Draco and his family. In fact, he probably already knew if Snape was truly on their side as Hermione believed.

"If only you would let people help you. Dumbledore —"

"Would you stop going on about Dumbledore already? I don't want to talk to him about this!" he replied heatedly.

"Why not?" responded Hermione in kind, matching his persistence.

"Because he's the one I'm supposed to —" he stopped short. "Look, it doesn't matter, alright. Just leave me alone!"

Supposed to what, exactly? And then it hit her. No, that couldn't possibly be it. _Could it_? Maybe Harry had been right all along; perhaps Voldemort wanted to punish Lucius for his shortcomings. She never would have believed Malfoy had actually been trying to kill Dumbledore, even with all of the evidence, she hadn't been sure. But now there was no doubt in her mind what Malfoy's mission really was. The realization must have shown on her face, for Draco immediately became closed off again. In an attempt to avert another heated confrontation, she worked to appease her once hated classmate. For it was now that she realized that she didn't actually hate him, as infuriating as he could be. Of course, she had recognized it earlier, but had desperately avoided admitting it to herself. But now, things had changed. This event irreversibly altered her outlook.

"Look, I won't tell anyone about this… for now."

"Even your friends?" he asked, snidely emphasizing the word 'friends' and regaining some of his former peppiness.

She thought about it, and she figured telling Harry, or Ron for that matter, was not a smart idea. Harry would immediately go to Dumbledore, and what little trust she had gained would be lost. And if she knew Dumbledore, she suspected he might already know about Draco's mission, as all-knowing as he seemed to be. And surely Professor Snape would know about this. Of course, she thought, thinking back to Harry's conversation of how he had eavesdropped on the pair of them. Why hadn't she seen it before? Maybe she simply hadn't wanted to believe that Draco was a Death Eater.

"Like I said, I won't tell anyone for now. But eventually I'm going to have to. You know I can't let you go through with this. Two people almost died because of what you did. If it happens again, I can't just stand by."

"I know," he said, looking torn. He was becoming dangerously close to crying again; so he was sorry for his actions after all. Tears were threatening to fall, and she knew he was holding them back. Hermione could scarcely believe that this broken boy before her was the same as the one she had despised for most of her childhood. She thought it best to leave the bathroom as quietly as possible and spare him further humiliation, and also make her exit when Malfoy was relatively calm.

What in the world had she gotten herself into? And what was she supposed to do now? For the first time in her life, Hermione had no answers.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 14:

Harry and Hermione begin to try and discover the identity of the Half-Blood Prince. Occlumency lessons with Snape take an interesting turn, and lead to ever more interesting questions. Harry tries to make use of what he's learned in these lessons, but it only winds up bringing him trouble. Meanwhile, Malfoy's indecision hangs in the balance.

"_Legilimens."_

_This time, Harry didn't let him in. In response, Snape's attacks on his mind increased in ferocity and it was all Harry could do to retain a hold of his on conscious. Once he regained composure, he let certain memories float to the surface of his thoughts. Memories that should have no significant meaning to Snape, just trivial memories… Harry didn't think these were important — the types of memories that he wouldn't give an enemy any more information about him. Everyone knew that Ron and Hermione were his friends, so those memories wouldn't put them at risk. But as Snape sifted through these, Harry realized that he was clearly looking for something revolving around Hermione. Why, he wasn't sure. He should have suspected something was amiss when Snape didn't resist… Snape clearly had another agenda, and Harry wasn't sure that he liked this._

* * *

A/N:

I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. It has some strong points, and I like the last scene especially, but I feel like this one jumped around a bit too much and didn't flow right. And I didn't want to split the chapter either. I'm not sure how to write it, though, so this will have to do for now. I finally got a chapter shorter than the previous one, but somehow they're all still much more than I initially estimate they'll be. Anyways, despite my misgivings, I hoped you enjoyed this one. It took me months just to finish Chapter 12, even being busy with school, it is much longer than it usually takes me to write a chapter. Luckily, this chapter took me only a couple of days. Hopefully, I can get on a groove here and crank a few more out over a short period of time.

I also hope that Snape didn't seem too out-of-character by getting upset and giving Malfoy detention for saying 'Mudblood'. But I feel that him being upset and disappointed with Draco and combine that with his memory of Lily where he did the same would be enough for him to lose a bit of composure.

Signing off,

fanster


	15. The Prince's Spell

I'd like to thank **substitutingrealitywithmyown ** for reviewing! Does your penname, by the way, have anything to do with MythBusters? Because if it does, that's totally awesome. I love that show.

Anyways, in other news, I changed the main characters from Harry and Hermione to Harry and Draco. I think some people think I've paired Harry and Hermione... in any case, this story is really more about Draco than Hermione. But he doesn't become really important until about half-way through the story, and I didn't want to confuse people or reveal anything too soon. I kind of wanted it to be a surprise for everyone following the story right now. In other words, I had planned to do this for quite some time; it's not actually in response to the review I just got. Speaking of which…

**Guest**, I never said it was going to be a Harry/Hermione shipping. The genre is Adventure/Friendship, not Romance.

DISCLAIMER: Do I really have to tell you? Okay, fine. Harry Potter, nor any of its characters belong to me.

* * *

Chapter 14

The Prince's Spell

A couple hours before classes were to start, Harry sat up in bed, reading his Potions book. There were many helpful tidbits about Potions and more besides. He took to reading it in his spare time; more than one of these tips had already proven to be useful. The Prince had a dry humor that came across in his writing. One passage looked like the Prince and a friend were communicating during a particularly lackluster lesson. In handwriting that clearly did not belong to the Prince, it read: _His mustache twitches funny when he talks._ The Prince: _Slughorn is a bumbling fool. He's good with potions, but he's far too focused on picking his star students._ Harry chuckled quietly to himself. Exactly how old was Slughorn? _Look at Crispin, he's fallen asleep_, wrote the friend of the Prince. _I would say that I don't blame him except almost everyone in our class, him included, are puerile imbeciles_, wrote back the Prince. _That's not very nice_, said the other hand-writing, though this rebuke was diminished by the smiley face drawn in beside it.

Harry flipped through trough more of the pages. One caption labeled "For enemies" caught his interest. Below was written the incantation, 'Sectumsempra.' He tucked in the corner of the page for future reference and continued to flip through the book. On one particular page, one of the Prince's spells seemed to have caused him some trouble. He turned the book sideways so as to examine more closely the scribbled instructions for a spell were there were many crossings-out and alterations, but finally, crammed into a corner of the page, the scribble:

_Levicorpus (nvbl)_

While the wind and sleet pounded relentlessly on the windows, and Neville snored loudly, Harry stared at the letters in brackets. _Nvbl_… that had to mean 'nonverbal.' Pointing his wand at nothing in particular, he gave it an upward flick, saying 'Levicorpus!' inside his head. "Aaaaaaaargh!"

There was a flash of light and the room was full of voices: Everyone had woken up as Ron had let out a yell. He tore open his bedside curtains to see what was the matter, only to find Ron dangling upside down in midair, as though an invisible hook had hoisted him up by the ankle.

"Sorry!" yelled Harry, as Dean and Seamus roared with laughter, and Neville picked himself up from the floor, having fallen out of Bed. "Hang on — I'll let you down —"

He groped for the potion book and riffled through it in a panic, trying to find the right page; at last he located it and deciphered the cramped word underneath the spell: Praying that this was the counter-jinx, Harry thought 'Liberacorpus!' with all his might. There was another flash of light, and Ron fell in a heap onto his mattress.

"Sorry," repeated Harry weakly, while Dean and Seamus continued to roar with laughter.

"Tomorrow," said Ron in a muffled voice, "I'd rather you set the alarm clock."

By the time they had got dressed and went down for breakfast, Ron's shock had subsided and he had decided that Harry's new spell was highly amusing; so amusing, in fact, that he lost no time in regaling Hermione with the story as they sat down for breakfast.

"... and then there was another flash, of light and I landed on the bed again!" Ron grinned, helping himself to sausages.

Hermione had not cracked a smile during this anecdote, and now turned her expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry.

"Was this spell, by any chance, another one from that potion book of yours?" she asked.

Harry frowned at her.

"Always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?"

"Was it?"

"Well… yes, it was. What of it?"

"So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?"

"Do you have a point, Hermione?" said Harry, preferring not to answer the question.

"It probably isn't Ministry of Magic approved," said Hermione. "And also," she added, as Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, "because I'm starting to think this Prince character was a bit of a shady character."

Both Harry and Ron protested her at once.

"It was a laugh!" said Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. "Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!"

"Dangling people upside down by the ankle?" said Hermione. "Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?"

"Fred and George," said Ron, shrugging, "it's their kind of thing. And, er—"

"My dad," said Harry. He had only just remembered.

"What?" said Ron and Hermione together.

"My dad used this spell," said Harry. "I — Lupin told me," he lied. Maybe his dad had known the Prince; perhaps he had learned it from him. Anything that would help Harry discover this mystery was encouraging news.

"Maybe your dad did use it, Harry," said Hermione, "but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you've forgotten. Dangling people in the air… Making them float along, asleep, helpless."

Harry stared at her. With a sinking feeling, he too remembered the behavior of the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron came to his aid.

"That was different," he said robustly. "They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You just don't like the Prince, Hermione," he added, pointing a sausage at her sternly, "because he's better than you at Potions —"

"It's got nothing to do with that!" said Hermione, her cheeks reddening. "I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know what they're for, and stop talking about 'the Prince' as if it's his title, I bet it's just a stupid nickname, and it doesn't seem as though he was a very decent person to me!"

"I don't see where you get that from," Harry argued ardently. "If he'd been a budding Death Eater he wouldn't have been boasting about being 'half-blood,' would he?"

"The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood, there aren't enough pure-blood wizards left," said Hermione stubbornly. "I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure. It's only Muggle-borns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you and Ron join up."

"Exactly, Hermione. They _pretend_ to be pure-blood. In other words, they wouldn't brag about being half-blood."

"And there is no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!" said Ron indignantly before Hermione could respond, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie Macmillan in the back of the head. "My whole family are blood traitors! That's as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters!"

"And they'd love to have me," said Harry sarcastically. "We'd be best pals if they didn't make it a mission to try and kill me."

"Who's trying to kill you?" asked Ginny, joining them as Ron laughed.

"Oh, nothing, we were just kidding around," he said in case Ginny took their conversation out of context. He didn't want her worrying about him. He was honestly trying to make light of it.

"Where are you going?" asked Ron to Hermione as she got up. "Class doesn't start for another twenty minutes."

"I've just remembered, there's something I need to look up."

"You're going to the library? Now?" Ron exclaimed in astonishment.

"Yes, Ron. Now," she said stoically. "I'll see you guys later."

And with that, she took off.

"It's not natural," said Ron shaking his head. "She needs some serious help."

"You know how she is, it's not like she has a disease or anything," said Harry.

"Might as well have."

Later that day, Harry found out exactly what Hermione had been doing in the library.

"I've been looking for any evidence of your so-called Prince."

This piqued Harry's interest immediately. "Really? Did you find out who he is?"

"'He? Who says it's a he?"

"We've been through this," said Harry a bit impatiently. "Prince, Hermione, Prince!"

"Right!" exclaimed Hermione, red patches blazing in her cheeks as she pulled a very old piece of newsprint out of her pocket and slammed it down on the table in front of Harry. "Take a look. Go on, look at the picture!"

Harry picked up the crumbling piece of paper and stared at the moving photograph, yellowed with age. The picture showed a skinny girl of around fifteen. She looked simultaneously bored and sullen, with dark brows and hair, and a rather waxen complexion. Underneath the photograph read the caption, 'Eileen Prince, Captain of the Hogwarts Gobstones Team.'

Harry could immediately see where Hermione was headed with this. But he was fairly skeptical of her finding.

"Hmm… I don't think so, Hermione. Gobstones? Wouldn't she be in some potions club if she were that good at it?"

"Why not? Harry, there aren't any real princes in the Wizarding world! It's either a nickname, a made-up title somebody's given themselves, or it could be their actual name, couldn't it? Look, if, say, her father was a wizard whose surname was 'Prince', and her mother was a Muggle, then that would make her a 'Half-blood Prince.' Maybe she was proud of being half a Prince."

"Maybe," said Harry unconvinced. Hermione noticed this, and it didn't improve her mood. She huffed, "So, you're saying if I found a picture of a guy you would believe me?"

Harry didn't think this was the Prince for some reason, but perhaps there was some truth to what Hermione said. Maybe the Prince had something to do with whoever this girl was. "Here, let me see that," asked Harry as he reached out for the photograph. For some reason, he found something about the girl in the picture familiar, but he wasn't sure what. He had certainly never heard of Eileen Prince. But he'd felt that he'd seen her before somewhere.

"Anyways, I'm going to see if I can find anything more about her; maybe I'll find something in the old Potions awards!"

Hermione's words barely registered with Harry as he tried to think of where he might've seen Eileen Prince before. "Yeah, you do that," he said distractedly. "Let me know if you find something."

"So you do think it could be her?"

Now, Harry turned his full attention to her. "I… I think the Prince probably has something to do with her. I mean, how common is the name Prince?"

"Not terribly."

"That's what I thought. I'm not saying it's definitely not her, I just have a feeling it's someone else."

"Well, we'll see," was all Hermione said.

"If we ever find out who it is," murmured Harry as Hermione departed for the library once again.

. *** .

The freezing rains and high winds of January transformed the castle grounds into a bizarre and twisted labyrinth of ice. The rain would melt the snow and then freeze over once again, making for treacherous footing. Harry saw more than one person slip and fall. Overall, it was grey and dreary outside and the onslaught of homework the professors were assigning after break only served to make the surrounding atmosphere more depressing.

"You'd think that they'd take it a little easy just coming off a break; give us time to settle in," said Ron at breakfast. "Oh, Hermione, could you pass me the salt?"

A watery blubber emanated from the other side of the table as Hermione handed over the salt-shaker to Ron. It was Lavender. She had burst into tears and her friend, Parvati, had her arms around her, consoling her and glaring over at Ron.

Ron turned away looking uncomfortable and immensely guilty. "We split up last night," Ron said in anticipation of Harry's question. "Things were just slowing down and she asked if I was getting bored."

"And what did you say?"

"Well, I couldn't very well put it that way, could I? I just mentioned that maybe it was time we moved on because… I dunno, I just don't ever see us being serious. Also…" continued Ron, lowering his voice, "I'm not sure I could stand it if she called me 'Ronniekins' or 'Won-Won' one more time."

Hermione snorted into her cereal.

Ron looked over at her and seemed to be considering her carefully. "Hey, Hermione, you wouldn't — ?"

"Well, I'll see you guys later, I'm headed to the library."

"Again?"

Hermione's only response was to wave goodbye and then she promptly headed down the hallway.

Ron turned to Harry in disbelief, "Is it just me or is she headed to the library even more than usual?"

Harry shrugged and bit into his cereal, refraining from expressing his feeling that Hermione hadn't actually been planning on going to the library and wanted an excuse to leave.

"You don't think… What do you think of me asking Hermione out?"

"Oh, got around to that idea, have you?" Harry said ironically.

"Come on, Harry, take it easy on me, would you?"

"I don't know, Ron. I think she's still pretty upset with you. Not only with Lavender, but the way you treated her. She's not going to come around all of the sudden just because you broke it off with Lavender."

"She just needs some time," Harry added, taking pity on Ron and his sullen expression. "Wait for things to patch up a bit, and then make your move."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, I hope it doesn't take her too long."

"Still, it must be nice to have that all over with. I didn't get the feeling that you particularly liked Lavender," Harry said in an attempt to change the subject. If truth be told, he was surprised that their relationship (if you could call it that) had lasted as long as it had; Ron and Lavender had gone out for almost three months.

"No," Ron said sheepishly, "It was mostly just about the snogging… Okay, well, that was pretty much all of it," he said after receiving a skeptical look from Harry. "It's definitely a bit of relief to be honest, now that it's all over. Although, I do feel a bit bad. I didn't expect her to cry so much…"

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Harry said with a clap on his friend's shoulder. "She's always been on the dramatic side. I'm sure she'll get over it real fast."

"I'm not sure whether or not I should be thanking you for that statement, Harry."

"Of course you should," Harry said with a quick smile. "…Ronniekins." Harry ducked before the pastry that Ron had thrown at him could find its mark, whereupon Snape docked points from Gryffindor for improper conduct in the dining hall.

"That cost me twenty points," Ron grumbled on the way out of the Great Hall.

"Hey, you're the one who decided to throw that roll at me. I was just trying to help," Harry said with a cheeky smirk.

"Yeah, help me, my ass. And for your information, it was a crumpet, not a roll," said Ron, sticking his nose up into the air, clearly unmoved.

"Cheer up, Ron," reasoned Harry. "You're a single man again." At these words, Ron's mood did seem to lighten considerably.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Lookout Hogwarts, there's a new free agent in town," he said mock-imperiously with his arms outstretched like a minister before his podium about to preach his sermon.

"Yeah, as long as you don't think I'm in line for recruitment anymore."

"Harry, mate, I was really worried there for a second. I am glad that it was really about my sister and not me."

"I don't know, Ron. Are you sure? Ernie MacMillan has always seemed a bit camp, and I think he was watching you work those pods in Herbology too intently if you know what I mean." Harry laughed as he dodged another of Ron's makeshift projectiles, this time, more of a fly swatter as Ron has rolled up his Quidditch magazine and tried to smack Harry in the back of the head with it.

. *** .

The next morning started with a pleasant surprise for the sixth years: a large sign had been pinned to the common room notice boards overnight regarding Apparition lessons. Harry and Ron joined the crowd that was jostling around the notice and taking turns to write their names at the bottom.

"Excellent," said Ron, "I can't wait to get Fred and George back. But they'll take the mickey out of me if I don't pass it the first time."

"I honestly didn't think it was that great," said Harry.

"Ooh, that's right, you've already experienced Apparition," remembered Hermione.

"What?" asked Seamus.

"Yeah, Side-Along-Apparition. Dum — um, someone took him," explained Ron.

"How cool would it be to just," Seamus snapped his fingers to indicate disappearance. "So, Harry, what was it like?"

For the next twelve minutes, Harry had to explain the sensation to anyone who was interested. They seemed awed rather than put off when he explained how uncomfortable the experience had been. "I'm sorry, but I really have to go now," he said as politely as he could, detaching himself from the onslaught of sixth year students beleaguering him with questions.

That Saturday, when Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived in the Hall, they found that the tables had been cleared to make a large space. Hail lashed against the high windows and the enchanted ceiling swirled darkly above them as they assembled in front of Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout — the Heads of House — and a small wizard whom Harry assumed was the Apparition Instructor from the Ministry. He was oddly colorless, with transparent eyelashes, wispy hair and an insubstantial air, as though a single gust of wind might blow him away. Harry wondered whether constant disappearances and reappearances had somehow diminished his substance, or whether his frail build was ideal for anyone wishing to vanish.

"Good morning," said the Ministry wizard, when all the students had arrived and the Heads of House had called for quiet. "My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry-Apparition Instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to be able to prepare you for your Apparition test, by which time many of you will be taking your test. As you may know," Twycross continued, "it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. The Headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for one hour, so as to enable you to practice. May I emphasize that you will not be able to Apparate outside the walls of this Hall, and that you would be unwise to try. I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you."

There was a great scrambling and jostling as people separated, banged into each other, and ordered others out of their space. The Heads of House moved among the students, marshaling them into position and breaking up arguments.

"Now then…" said Twycross. He waved his wand. Old-fashioned wooden hoops instantly appeared on the floor in front of every student. "The important things to remember when Apparating are the three Ds!" said Twycross. "Destination, Determination, Deliberation!"

"Step one: fix your mind firmly upon the desired destination," said Twycross, "in this case, the interior of your hoop. Kindly concentrate upon that destination now."

Everybody looked around furtively to check that everyone else was staring into their hoop and then hastily did as they were told. Harry gazed at the circular patch of dusty floor enclosed by his hoop and tried hard to think of nothing else. "Step two," said Twycross, "focus your determination to occupy the visualized space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your body!"

Harry glanced around surreptitiously. A little way to his left, Ernie Macmillan was contemplating his hoop so hard that his face had turned pink; it looked as though he was straining to lay a Quaffle-sized egg. Harry bit back a laugh and hastily returned his gaze to his own hoop.

"Step three," called Twycross, "and only when I give the command, turn on the spot — feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation. On my command, now…one… two…"

Harry glanced around again; lots of people were looking positively alarmed at being asked to Apparate so quickly.

Harry tried to fix his thoughts on his hoop again; he had already forgotten what the three Ds stood for.

"— THREE!"

Harry spun on the spot, lost his balance and nearly fell over. He was not the only one. The whole Hall was suddenly full of staggering people; Neville was flat on his back; Ernie Macmillan, on the other hand, had done a kind of pirouetting leap into his hoop and looked momentarily thrilled, until he caught sight of Dean Thomas roaring with laughter at him.  
"Never mind, never mind," said Twycross serenely, who did not seem to have expected anything better. "Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions…"

The second attempt was no better than the first. The third was just as bad. Not until the fourth did anything exciting happen. There was a horrible screech of pain and everybody looked around, terrified, to see Susan Bones wobbling in her hoop with her left leg still standing five feet away where she had started.

The Heads of House converged on her; there was a great bang and a puff of purple smoke, which cleared to reveal Susan sobbing, reunited with her leg but looking horrified.

"Splinching, or the separation of random body parts," explained an unperturbed Wilkie Twycross, "occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continually upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation… thus."

Twycross stepped forwards, turned gracefully on the spot with his arms outstretched and vanished in a swirl of robes, reappearing at the back of the Hall. "Remember the three Ds," he said, "and try again… one… two… three — "

An hour later, Susan's splinching was still the most interesting thing that had happened. Twycross did not seem discouraged. Fastening his cloak at his neck, he merely said, "Until next Saturday, everybody, and do not forget: Destination. Determination. Deliberation."

With that, he waved his wand, vanishing the hoops, and walked out of the Hall accompanied by Professor McGonagall. Talk broke out at once as people began moving towards the Entrance Hall.

"How did you do?" asked Ron, hurrying towards Harry. "I think I felt something the last time I tried — a kind of tingling in my feet."

"You're sure that it's not that your shoes are tied too tight?" asked Hermione, walking by with a smirk.

Ron sighed. "She can't stay mad at me forever," he reasoned as they walked back to the dorms. "Oh no!" he yelled upon arriving at the common room.

"What?" asked Harry, alarmed.

Ron pointed towards the announcement billboard, and this time, the announcement was not a pleasant surprise, their next Hogsmeade trip had been cancelled.

"Not a big surprise, though, is it?" said Harry. "Not after what happened to Katie."

Further disappearances had been reported in the Daily Prophet as well, including several relatives of students at Hogwarts. Harry suspected that this was also a reason for the cancellation.

"But now all I've got to look forward to is stupid Apparition!" said Ron grumpily. "And I was gonna…"

"Going to what?" asked Harry, fully knowing that it was probably to ask Hermione to go with him to Hogsmeade.

"Never mind," mumbled Ron.

. *** .

"_Legilimens!_"

As soon as Harry walked in the door, Snape was on the offensive. This is a method Snape had begun to implement for the last couple of lessons. 'Do you believe the Dark Lord will forewarn you of his attack?' Snape posed to Harry when he had objected the first time, at which point Harry had to concede that Snape had a point. But this time, he was ready for it, and successfully barricaded his mind.

"Better, Potter, but I would prefer you to try and use some of the more advanced methods rather than simple resistive force. The invader should not know that you are Occluding."

"Sir, I was just wondering, what about my connection to Vol — to Riddle?"

"Riddle?" Snape asked quizzically.

Harry forgot; he referred to Voldemort this way sometimes with Dumbledore, usually when discussing Voldemort's past. He also didn't like saying 'You-Know-Who', it was like he was afraid to say his name. And with no allusion to Snape, Harry also felt like referring to him as the 'Dark Lord' reminded him too much of the Death Eaters; Harry didn't want to talk like them, they were the only ones who referred to Voldemort this way. Snape on the other hand, had to constantly blend in with these types of people and keep up appearances. But Snape did not appear to know that Voldemort used to be called Tom Riddle. Harry guessed that he and Dumbledore were some of the only ones who knew about this.

"Er, You-Know-Who."

Snape looked like he wanted to inquire more about this, but as ever, was not inclined to get side-tracked off topic (although he made a mental note of this in the back of his mind for future reference).

"I can Occlude before I sleep when I'm most vulnerable," continued Harry, "but I still can't help the times when he has really strong emotions. I still feel those. And I can't Occlude all of the time, like during classes."

"No, but I do not think you need be overly worried about those instances. Remember, we suspect the Dark Lord is Occluding his mind from you. Both of you share a strong connection, so the times his feelings leak through, it is he that is at fault, not you. You only need to be concerned with the times he is trying to break through your defenses and to eradicate the visions. You are no longer experiencing those, correct?"

"No, sir. I haven't had any more visions."

"That is good. Be sure to keep up with your Occlumency exercises. Do not become lax. Occlumency is a skill that requires practice to stay in top form."

"Yes, sir."

"I believe that I no longer need to test you on this matter, but I may check from time to time to confirm that you are practicing regularly and more importantly to assess your progress. With time, your skills should improve."

"Yes, Professor."

"For now, let us begin with the lesson." He swept over to the front of the room and Harry took his normal position facing him. "Show me what happened during your walk down here."

"But nothing happened," said Harry.

Snape looked at him pointedly and with an air of utmost impatience.

"Oh, right… I'm ready."

He tried to depict himself walking down part of the way with his friends, Ron and Hermione, even though they hadn't been there. But Snape didn't know that. For all he knew Harry had walked down with them and hopefully he wouldn't be able to notice what was real and what was extraneous. Harry was sure he knew his friends well enough to portray them accurately.

He was trying a method called 'projection'. The theory was to create an image and overlay it with another memory, thereby changing the overall picture. A more advanced version of this was compilation, which was exactly what it sounded like. The Occlumens took certain aspects from many different memories and pieced them together like a puzzle. Conjuration was the last and most difficult technique. This is when you would summon into the memory events that never actually happened. Harry wasn't sure when or if he'd ever get to this technique. For now, he had been trying to get the process of projection down right, but without much success. He'd improved and he'd practiced, so hopefully today would be the day that he could finally produce a believable projection.

As Snape said, even if phrases were never said by a certain person, chances are that they have said something similar or have said each word before, just not collectively. So constructing dialogue was hardly ever a problem and the only form of conjuration that was relatively easy. So much so that Snape considered it to be more like a compilation of a sort.

The last and most complex technique was conception. Conception was largely considered to be a myth, as no one had ever successfully implemented it, as far as anyone knew. This would be when someone showed images that they had never seen before, not even in dreams. Most declared that it was impossible.

"Details, Potter," Snape declared once he had viewed Harry's partially counterfeit memory. "You will have to do better if you are going to have any success in diverting the Dark Lord. I happen to know that Miss Granger was wearing a grey shirt today, not a white one, and Mr. Weasley's bag is more worn than the one you conjured."

"How can you remember that?" exclaimed Harry. Even Voldemort would not have been that attentive, he was sure.

"You should not be amazed that there are people more observant than you, Mister Potter — particularly for someone such as myself where one mistake could be my downfall. I assure you, the Dark Lord will notice anything that is amiss. You must be painstaking in your recollections, not a single thing should be out of place. Not only visually, but the sounds, the smells, and every sensation that you associate with your chosen memory. Furthermore, if your memories are too vague certain features can appear to be indistinct. For example, the walls displayed some of this quality in that particular projection. It may seem insignificant, but you must think as meticulously about that as much as the people around you, else the illusion falls apart. Think of the grime, the texture, the imperfections… It is not about what is there, it's about what is not there. People tend not to notice anything unless it is missing."

"But I don't remember everything with exact detail. Wouldn't my real memories show the same thing?"

"You have seen another's memories have you not?"

"Yes," Harry murmured, hoping that Snape was not being accusatory.

"And what were they like? Did it seem as if anything was awry?"

"No… but —"

"True memories are always just that, the truth. Your subconscious can fill in the gaps. However, when you actively construct a memory, it must all come from your conscious mind because you are manipulating the memory. You will also not be informed beforehand which memory the invader is intending to view, so you will have no time to prepare yourself. It must be immediate, and thus, an instinctual reaction. Now, try again. This time, do the same thing, only this time, I would like for you show me your travels down to breakfast this morning."

"Okay." Harry took a deep breath and thought. He had gone down with Ron this morning, perhaps he should try incorporating Hermione into the memory again? Details, details… He knew one person of whom he was aware of every detail… He had walked with Ginny down to the lake during one of his breaks, and he could remember the way she smelled, the way her hair fell in cascades behind her back, the way her eyes shined when he stared at her, the way her lips moved when she spoke, the way her shirt hugged her around the middle, how her laugh seemed to ring when she was really amused…

"I'm ready."

Snape hadn't given him time to prepare beforehand for the last couple of lessons, so that he was doing so now surprised Harry somewhat. It must be because Harry was testing out a new form of Occlumency. But Harry didn't have any time to think about this and instead focused on clearing his mind.

"_Legilimens!_"

He tried to remember everything with exact detail. He imagined Ginny as clearly as if she stood before him, recalling parts of their conversation that he wouldn't mind Snape overhearing.

It seemed like no time before Snape pulled out again. He waited a moment, then said, "Did you in fact go down to the Great Hall with Miss Weasley this morning?"

"No, with Ron."

Snape paused again. "Good, you are getting better. But there will be times when what you have to recall will not be so familiar to you."

Harry was slightly embarrassed and hoped that the extent of his feelings for Ginny hadn't reached across his connection with Snape. If it had, Snape didn't comment on it. For this, Harry was exceptionally grateful.

"Now, what I want you to try is to direct me towards memories that you believe are irrelevant, you must try and lead me away from the memory I intend to view, using any or all of the methods you have learned thus far."

"How will I know which memory you're trying to see?" asked Harry.

Snape lifted an eyebrow, "Let's see if you can discover that for yourself."

Harry had been afraid of that.

Severus had noticed remarkably strange behavior from Draco Malfoy as of late, and he wanted to know why. Draco looked rundown as if he was severely ill and he had been underperforming in class. McGonagall had already given him detention for failing to follow proper directions in class too many times. The boy was more closed off from him than ever, and Severus' concern for him had increased two-fold. He was fairly certain it all had something to do with a certain Gryffindor know-it-all; he hoped he could glean something from Potter's memories to confirm his suspicions.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

"Legilimens!"

Harry automatically put up his defenses, a process which now came naturally to him, but he knew that he had to direct Snape to other memories. He wasn't sure about what to do next, but he lowered his defenses just enough to let Snape's presence trickle into his mind. Next thing he knew, he was viewing memories of himself talking to Hermione earlier that morning. Harry hastily tried to direct Snape elsewhere, but found it difficult. At last, they came to a memory of a few nights ago when he, Ron and Hermione had been sitting by the fireplace in the common room and only with great strength of mind was Harry finally able to divert Snape to a different memory.

"You're letting me go wherever I wish, Potter. Again."

"Legilimens."

This time, Harry didn't let him in. In response, Snape's attacks on his mind increased in ferocity and it was all Harry could do to retain a hold of his own conscious. Once he regained composure, he let certain memories float to the surface of his thoughts. Memories that should have no significant meaning to Snape, just trivial memories of him doing things like eating breakfast or talking about homework. Harry didn't think these were important — the types of memories that he wouldn't give an enemy any more information about him. Everyone knew that Ron and Hermione were his friends, so those memories wouldn't put them at risk. But as Snape sifted through these, Harry realized that he was clearly looking for something revolving around Hermione. Why, he wasn't sure. He should have suspected something was amiss when Snape didn't resist. How was this supposed to help him learn? Snape clearly had another agenda, and Harry wasn't sure that he liked this. So he brought memories of Quidditch practice the other day and the sensation of flight. After a while, Snape finally exited his mind.

"Better, but your memories need to be more mundane. The enemy must be able to glean nothing from your memories."

"More mundane than Quidditch?" Harry exclaimed in puzzlement.

"Yes."

Before Harry knew it, Snape was inside his mind once more, and there was no doubting that Snape was targeting memories of Hermione. She was in every single one, while Ron, and occasionally Ginny, were only in some of them. Quidditch was perfectly ordinary, why wouldn't that work? No, he was definitely up to something.

_What did he want with Hermione?_ Harry wondered. For the next half an hour, Harry worked again and again to divert Snape to the most boring memories he could think of.

"Very well, that is all for today, Mr. Potter. You are dismissed."

"What already?"

"Yes," Snape answered by way of dismissal. Harry couldn't help but feel that Snape was frustrated with something. Clearly, he hadn't got the information he had been looking for, whatever that was. It only added to his increasing distrust for his professor.

. *** .

Draco was on his way back to the Slytherin common room, having finished supper. He had no idea what he was to do now. Granger knew his secret, but it seemed that she had kept true to her word and had told no one. He hadn't the faintest idea why, but he was grateful for her reticence. But he was in perilous waters; if he didn't complete his mission, the Dark Lord would kill him and his family. On the other hand, if he tried to carry out his given task, Granger would have to step in. Not to mention that he didn't want to complete his mission, he didn't want to be a Death Eater. That left only one choice, he would have to go to Dumbledore, and ask for help. He was loath to do anything at the moment. His indecision kept him up at nights and created a constant weight on his shoulders. But he couldn't kill Dumbledore, or anyone, even if he wanted to — even if he had to. No, he would go tell Granger that he needed help; he was just delaying the moment as long as possible, looking for any other way out.

Then there was Granger herself. In their detentions what he had come to realize but refused to acknowledge up until this point, was that she was the only one that he felt he could really act like himself around. Even with his mother, he had to hide certain things; mostly so she wouldn't worry. But he talked about things with Granger that none of his Slytherin cohorts would ever even mention. She didn't assess his every move like they were playing a chess match. She was the only person to have reached out to him, and he was beginning to have doubts about all his father had taught him about Muggle-borns.

. *** .

Harry was headed to the Great Hall to grab something to eat after his lesson with Snape. He saw Malfoy headed out and coming his way. Malfoy hadn't even seemed to notice Harry. Interesting to note was that Malfoy was alone, instead of with his Slytherin cronies. Once again, Harry found himself curious, and irritated that he couldn't find out what Malfoy was up to. Then an idea came to him. Snape wouldn't approve, but Malfoy had already proven that he didn't care about whose lives were at stake as a consequence of his actions.

As Harry had asked Snape during one of their lessons, the incantation was not necessary to perform the spell. "Hey, Malfoy," said Harry.

"What do you want, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. But he had looked up, and that was all Harry needed. _Legilimens!_ Harry thought with all his might. What he saw was a cluttered mess, he still couldn't navigate the other's mind quite the way he wanted to, but he was searching for only something to do with the Room of Requirement. He saw it in a flash; it looked like a vast cathedral filled with junk. But as quickly as he found the image, no sooner than did it vanish.

Did Malfoy just force him out?

Malfoy now looked fearful. "What are you on to, Potter?"

Harry tried to play dumb. "What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

It didn't work.

"What were you just doing? Don't be thick, I know what you're trying to do!" said Malfoy, becoming angry. He must have learned Occlumency, thought Harry. Really, what were the chances of that happening?

"You picked the wrong person to mess with, Potter," said Malfoy whipping out his wand.

Harry responded in kind and reached for his.

Malfoy's hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, flicked his wand, and thought _Levicorpus! _However, Malfoy blocked the jinx and raised his wand for another —

Harry heard a loud explosion somewhere behind him as he attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy's ear and crashed in the picture frames the wall, whose inhabitants screamed loudly. Glass shattered as Harry deflected Malfoy's curse. Wind and rain were now howling in from the broken window. His face contorted, Malfoy started to cry, "Cruci —"

"SECTUMSEMPRA!" bellowed Harry, waving his wand wildly.

Blood spurted from Malfoy's face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the floor, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

"No —" gasped Harry.

Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest.

"No — I didn't —"

Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. "MURDER! MURDER IN THE HALLWAY!" Peeves cried. He must have just shown up.

"No —"

"What is going on?" demanded a voice. Harry looked up from where he was kneeling, terrified: It was Snape. His face grew hard as he took in the scene. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry's curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song. The flow of blood seemed to ease; Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy's face and repeated his spell — now the wounds seemed to be knitting.

Harry was still watching, horrified by what he had done, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood. Snape had performed his countercurse a third time, half-lifting Malfoy into a standing position.

"I'm talking him to the hospital wing. You…" he stated, pointing at Harry authoritatively, "You, Potter, will wait here for me." Snape supported Malfoy down the hallway until he was out of Harry's sight.

It did not occur to Harry for a second to disobey. He stood up slowly, shaking, and looked down at the floor. Bloodstains like crimson flowers were scattered across the surface.

Snape returned ten minutes later. A ringing silence pervaded the empty hallway.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," said Harry at once. His voice echoed in the cold, deserted dungeon passageway. "I didn't know what that spell did. I wouldn't… You know I'd never —"

Snape ignored this. "Apparently I underestimated you, Potter," he said quietly. "Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?"

"I-I read about it."

"Where?"

"I don't remember." It was half-way true. He didn't know exactly where in the book he had found the spell.

Snape didn't seem entirely convinced. "You don't?"

"No, sir," Harry stated with more conviction. He prepared himself for the inevitable, but he could stop Snape now.

The hallway seemed to shimmer before his eyes, and he struggled to block out all thought. It was much harder than any of his previous sessions with Snape, but he didn't have to worry about anything but keeping Snape out. He could do that. He knew he couldn't fool Snape, but there was no way Harry was going to let him into his mind. After a few moments of struggling, Snape finally abated.

"You know what I think, Potter?" he said. "I think you are lying."

"You can't prove it," argued Harry.

"Then what are you trying to hide from me?" Snape said softly, "Surely, if you were telling the truth, then you would be eager to prove your innocence."

"Maybe I just don't trust you," Harry replied. Snape's eyes glittered dangerously.

"So you read this spell, did you? Bring me your schoolbag, and all of your schoolbooks. Now."

Harry's stomach dropped. "Sir, I don't remember where I read it. But it wasn't in any of my schoolbooks." (In his mind, the Prince's book did not count as a mere schoolbook). This did not move Snape in the slightest, however.

"Bring them to me. All of them."

There was no point arguing. Harry turned at once and went down the hallway. Once out of the sight of Snape, he broke into a run toward Gryffindor Tower. Most people were walking the other way; they gaped at him, drenched in blood, but he answered none of the questions fired at him as he ran past.

He felt stunned; it was as though a beloved pet had turned suddenly savage; what had the Prince been thinking to copy such a spell into his book? And what would happen when Snape saw it? Would he tell Slughorn — Harry's stomach churned — how Harry had been achieving such good results in Potions all year? Would he confiscate or destroy the book that had taught Harry so much… the book that had become a kind of guide and friend? Harry could not let it happen… He could not…

"Where've you — Why are you soaking — ? Is that blood?" Ron was standing at the top of the stairs, looking bewildered at the sight of Harry.

"I need your book," Harry panted. "Your Potions book. Quick… give it to me…"

"But what about the Half-Blood —"

"I'll explain later!"

Ron pulled his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and handed it over; Harry then shuffled past him to into the dorms, seized his schoolbag, and then flew back down the stairs to the common room, ignoring the amazed looks of several people who had already finished their dinner. Throwing himself back out of the portrait hole, he sprinted down the seventh-floor corridor. He skidded to a halt beside the tapestry of dancing trolls, closed his eyes, and began to pace back and forth hurriedly.

_I need a place to hide my book… I need a place to hide my book…. I need a place to hide my book…_

Three times he walked up and down in front of the stretch of blank wall. When he opened his eyes, there it was at last: the door to the Room of Requirement. Harry wrenched it open, flung himself inside, and slammed it shut.

He gasped. Despite his haste and his fear of what awaited him back downstairs, he could not help but be awed by what he was looking at. He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Harry knew must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. It was the same room that he had seen in Malfoy's memory. Whether it was just a coincidence or because it was on his subconscious mind, he wasn't sure. Now he knew where Malfoy was spending all of his time. Now he had access to whatever it was Malfoy was doing. But there wasn't time now to investigate the matter further. Time pressed on and he needed to get back to Snape before he suspected him of taking a detour. Harry hurried through alleyways and roads bordered by teetering piles of broken and damaged furniture. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or stolen. Among mountains of other forbidden items, there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks… there was just about everything inside the room.

Harry hurried forward into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure, past the broken Vanishing Cabinet in which Montague had got lost the previous year, finally pausing beside a large cupboard. Opening the cupboard, he took out the empty bottles of firewhiskey and deposited his Potions book. He paused for a moment, his heart thumping wildly, gazing around at all the clutter… Would he be able to identify his hiding place amidst all this junk? Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock from on top of a nearby crate, he stood it on top of the cupboard where the book was now hidden; next, he found the witch's hat with the stuffed vulture on top that Harry recognized at once as the one Neville produced while facing the boggart in their third year, and perched it atop the mannequin half. Satisfied that he could once again locate his book, he streaked back through the alleyways of hidden junk back out to the corridor, where he slammed the door shut behind him, which immediately turned back into stone.

Harry ran flat-out toward the floor below, cramming Ron's copy of Advanced Potion-Making into his bag as he did so. A minute later, he was back in front of Snape, who held out his hand wordlessly for Harry's schoolbag. Harry handed it over, trying to hide the fact that he had been running. His breathing subsided, but his heart was still pounding, and Harry knew that it wasn't because of the exercise. He waited on tenterhooks for Snape to make his evaluation.

One by one, Snape extracted Harry's books and examined them. Finally, the only book left was the Potions book, which he looked at very carefully before speaking.

"This is your copy of Advanced Potion-Making, is it, Potter?"

"Yes."

"You're quite sure of that, are you, Potter?"

"Yes," said Harry, with a touch more defiance.

Why was Snape targeting the Potions book? Had he failed to shut everything away from him? No… Harry was sure that he had been successful, there was no reason that Snape would know about the book. Perhaps he was being paranoid. Maybe Snape was just probing more into the Potions book having heard of Harry's success in the class. Or maybe —

"This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?"

"Yes," said Harry firmly.

The cold, black eyes were boring once more into Harry's; as uncomfortable as it was, Harry didn't back down. He had to convince Snape he was telling the truth. Underneath his calm exterior, Harry's mind was whizzing. Something wasn't right here. There was no reasonable explanation for Snape's inquiries. He had to know something, but what? And how?

"I don't believe you. I can see it on your face. Rest assured, one way or another, I will discover the truth," said Snape, very quietly. "Perhaps detention might change your mind. What do you think?"

"I — I don't agree, sir," said Harry.

"Don't you? You do not believe you should be punished for severely wounding one of your classmates?" he said softly.

Guilt flooded Harry as he remembered the blood pouring from Malfoy's chest. There had been so much blood. Harry's knees began to shake. He had no love of Malfoy, true, but —

"He'll be alright, won't he, sir?" Harry asked desperately, on the verge of panic.

Snape just looked down at him callously.

He hadn't meant to hurt him. Snape _had_ to know that. "Sir, please. I didn't mean — I would never —"

"That is neither here nor there, Potter. It makes no difference how you _feel_," he said derisively. "You are still responsible for your actions — actions which have placed another student in critical condition."

"But, he…"

Time seemed to slow to a standstill as Snape glared down at him. Finally, he said, "Fortunately for you, and Mr. Malfoy, it seems he will make a full recovery."

Harry sighed with relief. He wasn't sure if he could live with himself if he had… if Malfoy had…

"But do _not_ think that this diminishes the gravity of what you have done. I will speak with the Headmaster what is to be done with you. I do not wish to deal with you," he spat with disgust.

Harry's heart dropped. Dumbledore. What would he say? He was lucky not be expelled as far as he was concerned. But facing Dumbledore's disappointment was more than Harry thought he could bear. This was the worst possible thing Snape could have done to punish him, and Harry was sure that he knew it; he was certain that is exactly why Snape had done it. "I will notify the Headmaster and your Head of House of what has transpired. You will wait in your rooms. Do not even think about leaving them until they have summoned you."

Harry didn't think even once about disobeying, and he certainly wasn't going to complain about skipping dinner; he didn't feel hungry anymore anyway. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"I've got my eye on you, Potter." And then Snape left without another word, leaving Harry alone in the middle of the dark, dank corridor feeling sicker than had remembered feeling in a long time.

. *** .

She couldn't believe it. But hadn't she known all along that that book would bring no good? Why didn't Harry listen to her? But no, even now he was still trying to protect that _book_, that awful book and the Half-Blood Prince! Harry had quickly briefed her and Ron about what had happened, and then he was whisked off by a very irate Professor McGonagall. Hermione was dumbfounded. She was certain Harry felt horribly about the whole incident, and yet he was still worried about someone confiscating his precious, precious _book! _The audacity! In her mind, books were supposed to be about enlightenment, knowledge; they were a vessel of learning. This potions book was a sad excuse for a book in her mind. But she hadn't suspected that something like this would happen. From the sounds of it Harry severely injured — no, almost killed — Malfoy. And although she wasn't sure how about her feelings regarding Malfoy — she certainly didn't care for him, of course — she had never wanted him dead.

Ron shifted, bringing her out of her reverie. Even he looked anxious, unsure about the situation. And he, Ron, hated Malfoy even more than she did. Wait, did she still hate him? Then why was she worried? It's natural to be worried, she told herself. She would never have wanted something of this nature to happen to anyone, even her enemy. Well, maybe her real enemies, but Malfoy was more of a rival. She didn't seriously think he was a threat or equivalent to a Death Eater after what she had seen, despite what Harry (that stubborn Harry Potter!) might think. No, she didn't hate him. Not anymore. And she knew that Harry would never forgive himself if he was responsible for another's death, even if it was Malfoy. It sounded as if it had been a very near thing… She shook her head to dispel all of her disorienting thoughts.

She looked at Ron. They both couldn't bring themselves to acknowledge what the consequences of this might be. Sure, Harry — well actually all of them — had gotten into more than a handful of trouble. But it was always harmless, or warding off the school from whatever threat was attempting to either eliminate Harry or harm the students. But this… Ron sighed. She had to break the heavy and overwhelming silence.

"I can't believe this," Hermione forced out the words. It almost shamed her how shaky her voice sounded.

"I know," Ron grunted, not really trusting his voice to speak. His best friend had seriously hurt someone, even if that someone was a right git. He could be expelled for this and then… He knew what Hermione was thinking, but neither of them had the courage to say it. Somehow voicing it aloud made it more real. A feeling of dread was enveloping Ron. Dumbledore was convincing, but Ron couldn't see how even Dumbledore could get Harry out of this one. And then what? Leave Harry on his own, where his best friends could not help? Of course Harry would be staying at the headquarters of the Order, or the Burrow. But would Harry really just stay put and wait for the oncoming threat of You-Know-Who? Ron knew the answer. If he knew anything about his best friend, Harry would not just sit and wait patiently for You-Know-Who. He would go and confront Him, whether his friends were with him or not. In fact, Ron had a sneaking suspicion Harry wouldn't object. He had become more private and secretive, more distant, lately. Harry didn't want to endanger his best friends and felt he had to do this on his own. When would Harry learn that they were going to help him whether he wanted them to or not?

. *** .

"You're very lucky that Professor Snape didn't expel you! I admit I would not have been quick to disagree with him had he decided to take that course of action!" shouted a livid Professor McGonagall. "I saw the state of Draco Malfoy, and I would never have believed it of you if I hadn't seen it for myself! I cannot begin to describe how very disappointed I am in you, Potter."

If this was unpleasant, Harry would gladly endure it not to see Professor Dumbledore.

"…was completely irresponsible!" McGonagall continued to rant. Apparently, she and Snape decided to take fifty points from Gryffindor as well. While this did not help Harry's predicament in the slightest, that was the least of his troubles. "I hope you understand the seriousness of what you have done," she was saying.

"I know," Harry said miserably. "But I didn't mean to hurt him. I swear I didn't, Professor."

She paused before the gargoyle and sighed. "I believe you, Potter, but it doesn't change things." She inspected him one last time before saying, "Well… here we are. Professor Dumbledore is waiting for you." She left without another word, leaving Harry to board the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office. Dreading this visit, he stepped onto the moving stairs with legs made of jelly.

Harry couldn't bring himself to look into Dumbledore's eyes as he entered the office, but when the silence became unbearable, he had no choice. The Headmaster looked as benign as ever, but there was no mistaking the disappointment, and that alone affected Harry more than McGonagall's or even Snape's scolding.

"I am sure by now you have been lectured thoroughly over the severity and potential consequences of your actions; nevertheless, I wish to impress upon you the dangers of recklessness. I know that you would never intend to harm a classmate, even one for whom you harbor much animosity. Be that as it may, I had a hard time of convincing Narcissa Malfoy of the very same. Using a spell of which you know little to nothing about was very unwise indeed. I am sure that you will not attempt to do such a thing in the future?"

"No, sir," said Harry fervently.

"Very well. I do not think it necessary for me to reprimand you on this matter any further, as I am sure you understand the significance of your mistake. I have no doubt that you will not make the same one again."

Harry could hardly believe his luck. He envisioned this being much worse. "Is that all?" he asked.

"No, I must also tell you to report to Mr. Filch on Friday evenings at 7 o'clock until the Easter holidays." Harry was sure that Snape had a say in this punishment. He usually spent his Friday evenings with Ginny, and detentions on a Friday night for any student was far from desirable. Still, he felt unbelievably fortunate to be getting off so lightly. Even better still, was that Dumbledore hadn't questioned him further about the origins of the unknown spell. Either he believed what Harry had told Snape, or he didn't deem it important enough.

As incredibly lucky as he felt, something was still nagging at the back of his head. There was one more stop he had to make before sequestering himself in his room…

. *** .

Hermione could no longer lie to herself. She was terribly worried about Malfoy. Whatever weird relationship they had formed, Malfoy had somehow achieved the impossible: he had gotten her to care for him. She often wondered how he was doing, and whether or not he would officially turn his back on the Death Eaters. There were no more attacks, so she assumed that he had discontinued that particular venture. She hadn't wanted to scare him off, and that was why she had put off pressuring him into making a decision. But now that Harry had mixed things up, she wasn't sure how much time she had. Harry would get his proof, and what happened after that was a complete mystery. There were too many things that could go wrong. Hermione was convinced that Malfoy did not want to be a Death Eater.

And now he was in grave danger.

With Ron speaking to Ginny about what had happened, she slipped out of the portrait hole and ran with increasing speed to the hospital wing. She had to see him; she had to make sure he was alright.

"Miss Granger?" questioned Madame Pomfrey in surprise when Hermione arrived at the Hospital Wing. There were no other patients in the ward, just Malfoy.

"I-I…" she supposed it must look strange for her to be coming to visit him. She hadn't really thought of that beforehand. But Hermione always knew the Mediwitch to not ask questions unless it was medically relevant. "I heard about what happened. I guess I just couldn't stop myself."

Madame Pomfrey nodded her head gravely, "It's one of the more serious injuries I've seen during my time here. Fortunately, Severus was able to repair most of the damage. Speaking of which, he should be in soon to check on him. I've given him a sleeping potion," she explained nodding towards the unconscious Malfoy. He looked much less antagonistic while resting. Snape must not have told her that Harry was the one who performed the curse. "He needed rest, but the pain wouldn't allow him to sleep." _My God_, thought Hermione, _it must be really bad_. "Actually, now that you're here, you wouldn't mind helping me change his bandages, would you?"

"Of course not."

Hermione gasped when Madame Pomfrey removed the bandage from around Malfoy's chest. The cuts looked to be sewn by magic, but they were still oozing a bit and they looked terrible. The lacerations had obviously gone deep.

Soft footsteps made Hermione look up. It was Harry. His expression changed from his obvious surprise upon seeing Hermione there, to one of sheer terror. Hermione could see his chest visibly rising and falling. Overcome with panic and emotion, Harry stared in horror at what he had done. He turned around and ran straight into Snape who had just arrived at the doorway.

Snape looked at him with his ever impassive expression. Harry hesitated for a moment, then fled down the hallway.

"Harry!" shouted Hermione. But he did not heed her call.

Now Snape turned his attention to Hermione. His penetrating stare always perturbed her. But unlike Madame Pomfrey and Harry, he did not seem surprised to see her there. She mimicked Harry and took off, following him, but he was already out of sight and there was no way she was going to catch up with him.

Once she got to the common room, Ron told her that Harry had gone to bed early. "Where were you anyway?" he asked.

She chose not to answer this question, and instead followed Harry's suit once again and retired to bed early. As she lay there trying to find rest, she saw in her mind the image of Malfoy's bare chest carved with those horrendous gashes. It was hard to believe Harry had caused such a thing, even if he hadn't meant to. She had no doubt that Harry must also be thinking of the same thing.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 15:

Harry and Dumbledore continue their foray into Voldemort's past. The information gets them closer to finding the Horcruxes, and as they try to identify the true essence of the Dark Lord and root causes for his behavior, they reach some astonishing conclusions. Meanwhile, Draco is coming to the precipice as decision-time nears. He must choose, and quickly, before it is too late. This decision will ultimately seal his fate, but what he will soon discover is that things do not necessarily get easier after the matter and, in fact, become even more complicated if that is possible.

"_And now, Harry, there is something I must ask you." Dumbledore interlaced his fingers and peered over them at Harry. "Why do you think Voldemort is so singularly invested in prolonging the inevitable? Besides the obvious, yes, he fears death, he fears the unknown. But he is not the only human being to possess such feelings. Why then, is he willing to go to such lengths to ensure his immortality?"_

_Harry was taken aback, how was he supposed to know, because he sometimes shared thoughts with him?_

"_I do not presume that you personally have any particular insight into this question, I simply wish to hear your thoughts on the matter," said Dumbledore, again displaying his uncanny ability to discern the thoughts of others._

"_I'm not sure, sir," Harry said honestly. "Why is anybody like that? Some people are just… psychopaths."_

"_That may be true, but I think that this situation is not as simple as that."_

_What was Dumbledore talking about? Surely, he wasn't thinking that Voldemort could be redeemed?_

* * *

A/N:

Yay! A normal-length chapter, I was beginning to think it would never happen. I'm still not sure how I'm feeling about everything right now. I feel like I'm forcing things a bit with my writing. Hopefully, you all disagree and feel that the story and each chapter is flowing nicely. For some reason, I get the sense that my writing hasn't been up to par in the last couple of chapters. I also wasn't sure about Snape's reaction to Harry's use of 'Sectumsempra.' It might be a little off, but I think I can justify a lot of that in the next chapter. I hope you enjoyed it! As always, I love reviews.

Signing off,

fanster


	16. Switching Sides

I'd like to thank **filoctetes** and **Covered in Bruises** for reviewing.

Reviews at this point would be very encouraging for me. I haven't written in weeks and my whole life is studying right now. Chemical engineering is definitely not a soft major. I've got three tests coming up next week, so forgive me my relative lateness in updating. Moving on…

DISCLAIMER: Snape, Snape, Severus Snape. Snape, Snape, Severus Snape. Dumbledore! Snape, Snape, Severus Snape. Dumbledore! … Snape, Ron, Snape, Ron, Severus Snape, Ron Weasley. Dumbledore! … Harry Potter, Harry Potter. Ooh! Harry Potter, Harry Potter, that's me! Snape! Harry! Snape! Harry! Snape! Harry! … DUMBLEDORE! … Herrrmione!

I don't own any of them.

Also, the memory of Tom Riddle and Dumbledore is taken from HBP.

* * *

Chapter 15

Switching Sides

Harry felt terrible the next morning. He hardly got any sleep, and he had no desire to do anything. Ginny tried to get him to eat something for breakfast, but his appetite still hadn't returned. "She's right, Harry," said Hermione. "You haven't eaten since lunch yesterday. You need to eat something." He tried to eat some toast, but it was like trying to chew carpet. He looked over at the Slytherin table; Malfoy was not there. But some of the other sixth year Slytherins were throwing him withering looks — Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy in particular. He wondered if they knew the whole story. Astonishingly, rumors of the incident had not spread. Harry was grateful for this.

That day seemed to drag by, and he had a hard time paying attention in class. The only thing he would have to look forward to that night was detention with Filch…

In detention, Harry went around with Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris, cleaning the castle. It was very boring work, and unpleasant, with the cantankerous caretaker.

On that next Monday, Malfoy made his return. His demeanor was subdued, and though Harry expected him to retaliate, he did not. During classes, he was uncharacteristically quiet. Harry wouldn't have blamed Malfoy for wanting to get back, but surprisingly, he didn't spare Harry so much as a glance. As guilty and as bad as he felt, Harry still felt that he had to get to the bottom of whatever Malfoy was into. He wanted to wait a while to return to the Room of Requirement, until he felt it was safe to retrieve the Prince's book. But he also wanted to investigate the room to see if he could find out what Malfoy was up to…

. *** .

Hermione needed to speak to Malfoy, but she couldn't very well do it in public. She was worried that he might revert back to his original plan given the current turn of events. She wanted to make sure he was alright, and try to convince him to go to Dumbledore. The problem was that she wasn't sure how to get him on his own without arousing suspicion.

She saw her opportunity when she saw a tall, blond-haired figure — unquestionably Malfoy — leave the Great Hall at lunch. After detaching himself from a clingy-looking Pansy Parkinson, he continued his way down the Hall alone. Hermione fabricated an alibi about leaving a book behind in the common room and excused herself from the table. Jogging slightly, she cleared the entryway just as she saw the tail of Malfoy's robes retreat down the stairs. There was no one else in the corridor. "Malfoy!" she yelled in hopes of stopping him. She really didn't want to have to chase him down. She had a hard time envisioning that that would turn Malfoy into her favor. She saw him slowly ascend the stairs to see who had called. He stopped short upon seeing her, but did not walk away so she approached him cautiously, making certain no one else was around. "Can we talk somewhere?" she asked. He walked past her down the hallway, and for a moment she thought he might be simply ignoring her until he opened the door to an empty classroom and held it open. He wordlessly beckoned her to enter the room and she walked inside; Malfoy followed, closing the door behind him.

"What, Granger?" he said as he half-sat on a desk and crossed his arms.

She hesitated. "I'm glad you're alright." When he didn't say anything, she continued. "You know, Harry didn't mean to hurt you… He feels terrible."

"I'm sure he does," Malfoy intoned listlessly, unmoved.

"He does," Hermione insisted.

"Is that all you've come to tell me? To apologize on Potter's behalf because he's too good to do it himself?"

"No," objected Hermione, fearing things were taking an unpleasant turn. "That's not really why I'm here." She bit her lip in uncertainty.

"Well? Then what is it, Granger? I haven't got all day, you know," Malfoy snapped impatiently.

He clearly wasn't in a good mood, and she wasn't helping matters any. Dare she ask him now? She might not get another chance. "What are you going to do, Malfoy?"

"Do with what?"

"Stop it; you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Malfoy sat in silence for a good long minute, clearly evaluating his options. "I guess I don't really have a choice," he finally said, sounding defeated.

"Of course you have a choice. But you can't do nothing. Eventually, that won't be an option."

"I know," said Malfoy, his tone somber. "But…"

"Draco," said Hermione, trying to urge him into making a decision. Here, he looked up sharply at the sound of his name. "I know you don't want to be a Death Eater."

"It's too late for that," he said bitterly.

"No, it's not," she said firmly. "You may be marked, but that doesn't mean you have to become like them. You don't have to be a Death Eater. You can choose what you want to be."

Her sentence seemed to hang in the air as Malfoy stared at her in silence in the empty room.

"You really think so?" asked Malfoy in a barely audible voice. His eyes were pleading her for the truth, as if almost afraid of the answer.

"Of course I do," she answered softly.

"But what about my mother?" he asked after a while. "How can they protect her? Sometimes he uses our house, for meetings."

"He's been to your house?" Hermione asked in horror.

"Yes," spat Malfoy who got up and paced around in clear state of agitation. "And I hate it. I hate thinking of her alone with him. I know he wouldn't try anything… untoward; I doubt he even feels those kinds of desires… but he could kill her without thinking twice about it, or — I don't know, he might torture her if she displeases him. Hell, he might for no reason at all except that he can… I can't stand it. I won't let her be killed. If she died because of me…" He seemed to realize that he had revealed more than he had planned, instantly becoming completely quiet once more.

"Dumbledore will be able to do something about it. He'll find a way to get her to safety, I'm sure of it." Of this, she was certain. Dumbledore would find a way.

"But what if he can't?"

"He will."

"How?" Malfoy challenged. "And why are you so sure?"

"Draco, please," Hermione pleaded, "You have to trust me."

The problem was, he probably hadn't ever had someone whom he could put his trust in. Indeed, he looked incredibly wary once she had uttered the word. "I'm trying to help you," she insisted. "I'll come with you to see Dumbledore. He'll have to believe us."

Draco just sat there, breathing hard and staring off into space.

"I know it's scary," she said gently, taking a step towards him, "but I'll be there with you. Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise."

Now he looked into her eyes, as if searching for some kind of trick. She bit her lip, suddenly nervous for some reason.

After what seemed like forever, he nodded his head, so imperceptible that she wasn't sure whether or not she was just imagining it. But then, in a hoarse voice he said, "Alright."

Relief such as she had never experience washed over her. She wanted to give him a hug to reassure him, but restrained herself lest Malfoy break their deal right then and there, get terribly angry and punch her in the face.

"But not right now," said Malfoy. Hermione understood, people would begin to wonder if he was seen going to Dumbledore's office. They had to be careful. More importantly, they couldn't be seen together.

"Meet me by the statue of Lachlan the Lanky tonight," said Hermione. "What time can you get away without attracting attention?"

"I usually take a shower in the Prefects' bathroom around eight. So I could leave the Slytherin common room then without anyone noticing anything."

Hermione never used it herself, but from what she heard from Harry, the Prefects' bathroom was pretty spectacular. She didn't like to waste time and took quick showers. A shower was a shower and the ones in the dormitories were more than adequate. But habitually lavished Draco Malfoy probably didn't see it that way, surmised Hermione.

"Fine. That works. I'll just —"

"— tell them you're going to the library?" guessed Draco. Honestly, he thought, she was so predictable.

Hermione pursed her lips. Yes, that was going to be her excuse; but she was still annoyed with his smugness. "Yes. That's what I'll tell them," she replied wearily.

He nodded to show his compliance.

"We probably shouldn't leave at the same time in case people are out there," proposed Hermione. "I'll wait a few minutes after you, and then leave."

He nodded again, and walked over to the door cracking it open to peek outside and listen for any noise on the other side before slipping outside and closing the door behind him. Hermione waited a while like she said she would, and then went back to rejoin Harry and Ron.

That night, Hermione made her way to the seventh floor. She had charmed Slughorn into telling her the password. She wasn't a good liar, and she knew that McGonagall was too astute to be hoodwinked. But Slughorn noticed nothing amiss when Hermione nervously told him that she was going to inquire about a summer internship with an apparently expert Potioneer and Alchemist whom Dumbledore knew fairly well. Slughorn was keen to talk about his high-up connections, and was quick to mention who could help her on her way to greatness. She knew that Professor Dumbledore had great experience in Alchemy, and so when she asked Slughorn about her desire to potentially find a career in this field, she knew that he would direct her to Dumbledore. So when she asked him for the password, he didn't hesitate to tell her. Hermione knew, of course, that Harry knew the password because of his regular lessons with the Headmaster, but she definitely did not want to ask him. He was too inquisitive for his own good, and she didn't want him looking at his informative map only to find that she was there with Draco Malfoy. This was the same reason she didn't ask to use his invisibility cloak. True, she was a prefect and was allowed to be out, but she still didn't want people knowing what she was up to so she Disillusioned herself.

Malfoy wasn't there when she arrived at the agreed upon meeting spot. She was five minutes early, though, so she waited. But fifteen minutes later, he still hadn't shown up. Hermione sincerely hoped that she hadn't been duped. About to make the transition from being frustrated to becoming anxious, she heard footsteps coming up the staircase, and there appeared Malfoy.

"You're ten minutes late!"

Malfoy looked around in confusion, and Hermione realized that she still had the charm on her. "Disillusionment charm," she explained when he started in surprise at her sudden appearance.

"Good idea, I'll have to use that one on the way back. And I said around eight," he said when she gave him a stern look. "I never said exactly eight," he reasoned easily. "There's no need to get your feathers in a ruffle… I'm sorry, it was harder to get away than I thought," he said upon hearing her harrumph.

"No one tried to follow you, did they?" she asked worriedly.

"Of course not; do you think I'd be here if they had? What do you take me for, some kind of idiot?" he said with a touch of indignation this time. "Never mind," he said, holding up a hand, forestalling her protestations as she opened her mouth to argue. "Let's just get this over with." Hermione supposed his increased testiness stemmed from his anxiety,

Walking down the hall to get to Dumbledore's office was an incredibly awkward experience for both of them. Neither of them was foolish enough to engage in any small talk, but walking next to each other in silence when they used to be mortal enemies was strange to say the least.

When they got to the gargoyle, Hermione spoke the password and they both ascended the spiral staircase in silence. Hermione glanced at Malfoy before lightly knocking on the door.

"Enter," said Dumbledore. "Miss Granger… and Mister Malfoy," he said with some surprise. "What brings you to my office today? Not having more problems I hope."

"No, sir," said Hermione, "it's…" She looked at Malfoy again. She wasn't sure if he wanted her to explain or if he wanted to talk. Dumbledore waited patiently, watching them over his moon-spectacles benignly.

"You see, sir… we-we need help." She had no idea what to say. Now that she was here, everything that she had planned on saying deserted her.

"I see…" pondered Dumbledore. "And what kind of help would that be?"

"Er…" She looked over at Malfoy again. He seemed to be struggling to find his words.

After a long pause, Dumbledore finally said, "Would I be right in assuming, Mr. Malfoy, that you have decided to forsake the mission and affiliation forced upon you?"

Draco's head snapped up. "You knew?" he asked.

"Yes, I was quite certain that you have been behind the recent attacks.

"Then why didn't you do anything?"

"I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted in the event that Lord Voldemort used Legilimency against you." Draco flinched at the sound of the name. "I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realized that I suspected you," finished Dumbledore. "Am I correct in saying that the two of you began to see each other in a different light over the course of your detentions together?"

They both nodded in the affirmative.

"Good, very good. Your path would only have led to destruction, Draco. Incidentally, you are very fortunate indeed that your unintentional victims survived."

"I know," Draco said in a small voice, "I'm sorry," he said even softer still, averting his eyes from the piercing gaze of the Headmaster.

"I believe that you are," Dumbledore responded after a while. Draco looked up in astonishment. "That's it? Aren't you going to punish me?"

"This is not a usual case. You have been burdened with an impossibly difficult challenge. I think what you have had to endure is punishment enough. You have demonstrated true courage and personal integrity in coming to me. Such a thing must be rewarded and encouraged, not frowned upon."

"What about my mother? Can you help her?"

Hermione got the feeling that this was what he had been waiting to ask.

"Yes, we can protect her."

"How?" Draco asked.

"My suggestion would be to transfer her to a place that is well-guarded, and impossible to locate. I have such a place in mind."

"They'll notice her absence at home. The Dark Lord uses it occasionally as a base."

"Yes, I am aware of this. I have contacts at St. Mungo's who can attest that your mother resides there with a most grievous illness. Any potential visitors we can deter by other means."

Draco mulled this over and seemed to find it acceptable. "Where would you hide her?"

"Ah, yes. Miss Granger, if you wouldn't mind retrieving Harry for me?"

"Harry?"

"Potter?" Hermione and Draco both said simultaneously, albeit, with a much different tone of voice.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied simply.

Hermione hesitated to leave Draco's side, but saw no choice in the matter when Dumbledore beckoned her to go with an assuring nod of the head.

"Why do you need Potter?" demanded Draco once the door was shut. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall any further objection. "You will find out, soon enough," was his enigmatic response. "Now," he continued, "There is something I must ask you."

Draco was becoming anxious. Why did Dumbledore need Potter? What was he going to do? Did he merely wish to get Hermione out of the room?

"Who is your contact inside Hogsmeade? Is it Rosmerta? Did you place her under the Imperius curse?"

"Oh, yeah… I did. But she's not anymore. Under the Imperius Curse, that is."

Dumbledore nodded, "That is what I suspected." Steepling his fingers, Dumbledore continued, "Now, clearly we must keep your status confidential. Voldemort must not find out that you have come to me. You are safe whilst at Hogwarts, but I believe it is of the utmost importance that you continue your education in the art of Occlumency. You will need to protect your thoughts against him. There is no one better suited to this task than your Head of House."

"There's something you have to know about Snape," said Draco. "He's a Death Eater. He's a spy for the Dark Lord."

"This I know; although I thank you for reporting this to me."

"No, I mean he… wait a minute… How did you know that I learned Occlumency?" Draco thought about what Dumbledore had just said… _There is no one better suited to this task…_ "He's a double agent! He's really a spy for you!" As he said it, everything started to make much more sense. "How could I not see it before?" he wondered.

"He is exceptionally good at avoiding detection. Lord Voldemort has thus far failed to realize the truth. You should not be so dismayed that you did not see it either."

Not that Snape was a particularly nice man, but Draco had always thought that Snape was a misfit with the Death Eaters. There was something different about him, yet Draco could never place it. Well, here was his answer. His indifference was a mask that was easy to believe because Snape was a calculating man, not led by his emotions; but he didn't enjoy the merciless torture and killings like the others. _He's not sick like my father_, thought Draco.

"So when he was trying to help me, he was really just trying to see what I was up to?"

"I requested that he assist you wherever possible, and yes, report your doings to me. I wished to hinder your progress so that others would not be put in harm's way, but do so in a way where my awareness did not become apparent. Just as I care for the welfare of all of my students, so does Professor Snape care for yours."

Draco sat in astonishment. His Aunt Bellatrix had been right all along. He felt a new respect for his Head of House. Here was a man who risked his neck every day — a life Draco was sure no sane person would prefer. What changed his mind into becoming a double agent, Draco wondered?

The door opened, and Hermione came in, followed by a thoroughly bemused looking Harry Potter.

"Professor? What's going on?" he asked.

"It turns out, Harry, that your suspicions regarding Mr. Malfoy's actions were in fact correct; however, Draco has decided to turn away from that particular path. He has chosen to no longer serve Lord Voldemort."

"Has he?" Harry asked with a frown, clearly not entirely convinced.

"That's right, Potter," said Draco with a touch of defiance in his tone.

"As you can imagine," continued Dumbledore as though nothing had been said, "this puts Draco in a very precarious position. Voldemort must not find out that his allegiance has changed. In addition, his mother will require a safe and secure place to stay."

"And you're sure, sir, you're convinced he's really changed?"

"I'm right here, Potter," Draco said in a low growl.

"I am," said Dumbledore. "Why else would he confess his hand in his crimes and risk, not only his mission, but his life?"

Harry seemed to have no answer to this.

"Additionally," said Dumbledore, "your friend, Miss Granger, is certain of his change of heart. And I daresay you trust her judgment, if not mine." Glancing at Hermione, Harry turned to confront Malfoy. "And you're sorry? You're for what you did to Katie, and Ron?"

"Harry," Hermione warned.

"What about you, Potter?" said Draco, standing his ground. "Are you sorry for what you did to me?"

Harry looked down in guilt. "That's different," he said quietly. "It was an accident."

"Yeah, and I didn't mean to hurt either of them."

"But you were trying to kill him!" said Harry, pointing at Dumbledore and making Malfoy suddenly uncomfortable again.

"I was trying to save my parents. What would you have done? … I'm not proud of what I did," he finished in a low voice.

"What has happened is in the past," said Dumbledore. "What matters now is the choice he is making in the present."

The atmosphere in the room became more subdued. Harry folded his arms and sat in silence for a few moments before saying, "It would just be her? Because I am _not_ helping Lucius Malfoy."

"_No_ one is telling my father about this," said Draco even more adamantly. They all turned to stare at him.

"Lucius is currently in prison, so this is not an issue for now," stated Dumbledore, "However, should he escape, I must agree with both of you. I do not believe it would be wise to inform him of this development. Nevertheless, we have other ways of protecting your father," Dumbledore told Draco.

"I don't care. I don't care what you do with him." Harry looked at Draco in surprise. Just earlier this year, Malfoy had attacked him in retaliation for his hand in getting Lucius locked up in prison [1].

"Draco will also have to stay over the summer holidays, of course," said Dumbledore, choosing not to address the sensitive topic further.

There another period of silence until Harry finally broke it again to say, "Fine. They can stay."

Draco looked at Harry in amazement. He was sure that he would not agree to let him or his mother stay at his house, and that Dumbledore's efforts would prove fruitless. "Why am I to stay at Potter's home? I assume it's because the home of the Boy-Who-Lived has to be well-protected anyway?"

Harry scowled in annoyance.

"No, Draco, you will not be staying at his residence with him and his relatives. As I'm sure you are aware, your second cousin, Sirius, possessed a home — a source of frustration, no doubt, for your Aunt Bellatrix."

"So _you_ inherited it?" Draco asked Harry; Harry nodded his head.

"I am the Secret-Keeper," said Dumbledore. "No one outside of the Order knows where it is situated. And I alone have the ability to reveal its exact location."

It would be safe, thought Draco, probably even safer than Hogwarts. "Alright," he agreed.

"Well, that is settled, then," said Dumbledore. "Thank you, Harry." Harry shrugged his shoulders in response. "No one must know about this. Of course, I would advise you to explain the situation to Ronald and Miss Weasley. We do not want to cause unnecessary confusion or create misunderstandings. I want it understood that it is imperative no one outside of yourselves and the Order find out about what has occurred." After they all pledged their secrecy, Harry opened the door to leave. He looked back at Hermione, but she didn't make to move so he withdrew from the room and closed the door behind him.

"I commend you both for overcoming your preconceptions and working together to solve this most troublesome quandary. It brings to me peace of mind and comfort to my heart. I would like to remind you both that to the outside, it must appear as though as nothing has changed. It is an unfortunate condition to ensure your safety, Draco, but it is essential that you not draw unwarranted attention from inquisitive minds. And now, if you don't mind Miss Granger, I would like a quick word with Draco."

Hermione gave Draco one last look of encouragement before departing. When the door was shut once again, Dumbledore spoke. "Now, Draco, there is yet another decision that lies before you. Inevitably, Lord Voldemort will become most displeased once he realizes that you are not making any progress on your mission. I see two alternatives. One, the most obvious course, is to simply hide where you can protected when you are not at Hogwarts. The problem I see here is that some of your Housemates may become upset when they undoubtedly find out — most likely from relatives — what you have done. Many will see this as an act of betrayal on your part."

"And what is the other option, sir?"

"The other option is this: to continue in the service of Lord Voldemort. I believe that we can formulate a way to both guarantee your safety and convince Voldemort to assign you a new mission, one that he knows you may have a chance in succeeding."

"What, be a spy, like Professor Snape?" Draco said in surprise. "How is that safe? If there was an easier way out of my situation, I would have already taken it."

"If you were to tell Voldemort that you have been working to befriend Harry and gain his trust — something I daresay your father had wanted you to do when you first started at Hogwarts, although that plan obviously backfired — it is my belief that he would allow you to abort your current mission to eliminate me, and would be very eager to have someone by his side that could become close to his arch-nemesis."

"And what if he doesn't?"

"Professor Snape will inform Voldemort of your intentions. If he is not agreeable, then we would clearly abandon that idea."

Draco had not been expecting this; he wasn't sure how he felt about it.

"It is your decision to make. If you want my honest opinion, I believe that the first alternative would be safer in the long run, and that while turning spy would probably be safest in the immediate time frame, it is an unmistakably dangerous road to take. I will not pretend otherwise. What is more, while Voldemort would certainly be upset that he lost a servant in such a manner, I do not believe that he would expend an extensive amount of resources to capture or kill you — and I am confident that we could protect you. I cannot make this decision for you. You must do what you think is best."

To hide would be the simplest thing to do, was Draco's immediate thought. It was the sort of thing that he would do. Courageousness he felt, sometimes bordered on stupidity. But it would also mean that he was declaring his desertion of the Dark Lord. And protection or no, it seemed to Draco a very foolhardy thing to do. And Dumbledore was right; the other students whose parents were Death Eaters would certainly try and do a number on him. To become a spy would have a certain Slytherin quality to it. Weren't Slytherins supposed to be the sly and ambitious ones? But being a spy would be walking a perpetually perilous line. But if the Dark Lord didn't suspect him, and thought he was still loyal to the Death Eaters… It was hard to say which was safer. He always thought that if he had a choice, he'd remain impartial — merely a spectator. But that wasn't possible anymore. To turn your back on the Dark Lord was anything but neutral passivity. If he hid, the Dark Lord would soon find out, and while he'd be free to claim his neutrality, the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters would never see it this way.

And if Draco truly wished to be safe, and for his mother to be safe, he'd do everything he could to ensure victory for the opposing side. He had delayed death for now, but if the Dark Lord won, then he'd only be postponing the inevitable. If Dumbledore and his Order were defeated, there would be no one to keep him safe. He always felt that he didn't care who won in the end. But he could no longer remain indifferent. His own survival hinged upon the outcome of the war. He had seen what the Dark Lord was capable of, and he in no way wished to live under his reign. He was the reason Draco was even in this situation.

Still, to hide was the obvious choice. But a voice in the back of his head told him it was also the coward's choice. _Why should that matter_, he argued with himself? All that mattered was survival. Honor, heroism, those were overrated; though an unconscious part of himself craved it — a chance to reinvent himself and cast off the part of him that he knew was craven, and a chance to be a part of something bigger than himself.

He suddenly realized that he had been thinking for a long time, and that Dumbledore was silently, patiently, waiting for an answer. But Draco still wasn't sure if he had one. Dumbledore seemed to sense this and said, "You do not have to decide right away. It is a major decision — one that will undeniably shape the course of your life. As such, I understand your caution; it deserves such care and attention. I will accordingly allow some time to think over your predicament. But I would advise you to make it as swiftly as is possible, before it is too late."

"Yes, sir." He had a lot of thinking to do.

"I am very glad that events have worked out this way. I have been very troubled over what would become of your fate. Under such incredible pressure, most people would not have the courage to do as you have done. It would have been an easy thing to allow yourself to become hopeless and overwhelmed with despair. It was a very brave thing to do, and I must say, I am both impressed and very proud of you."

It was true, Draco had never been particularly fond of Dumbledore; but this had to be the most startling event of the day. Despite everything that had happened, or perhaps because of it, he found himself becoming suddenly overcome with emotion.

"Thank you, sir," he said in a muted voice as he stared down at the floor in slight embarrassment.

"That will be all for today, Draco. Let me know when you make a decision."

Back in his room, Draco leaned back in his chair, rocking it to and fro with his feet on his desk. He felt like the longer he thought about it, the more indecisive he became. Every time he neared a conclusion, he was pulled in the other direction. The logical part of him told him to err on the side of caution, but the fire inside him, the rebel in him, was telling him to fight back. He wasn't sure how long he sat there; it must have been at least an hour. So engrossed he was in his own thoughts that he didn't hear the door open, and it wasn't until the person in question was right beside him that Draco noticed someone else was in the room.

"Don't think too hard, you'll hurt yourself."

The front legs of Draco's chair dropped to the floor with a dull thunk. He glanced over at Blaise, but said nothing.

"Hey… are you alright?" Blaise asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," sighed Draco, "just thinking."

"Pansy's worried about you, you know; says you're keeping lots of secrets."

"Well you can tell Pansy to —"

"Even Crabbe and Goyle are worried, especially Goyle."

Again, Draco decided not to say anything in response. He could hardly tell any of them what was really bothering him. There was only one person who he could talk to, but that wasn't a possibility at the moment.

"Look," said Blaise, "I don't know what it is you're into, but tonight, you're not going to be doing any of that."

"Blaise —"

"Either you prove that my beating you in Wizard's Chess last time wasn't a fluke, or I'm calling it for you."

Draco hesitated.

"Come on now, you're not going to chicken out on me, are you?"

Draco gave Blaise a roguish smile, "Alright, I guess it's time for me to prove once and for all who's king."

. *** .

Harry was due for another lesson with Dumbledore. Once again, this time Dumbledore had placed the Pensieve upon his desk. Harry was eager for today's lesson as it was the first since he had obtained Slughorn's memory.

"Welcome, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Today we resume our journey through the life of Tom Riddle. First, I think you'll remember my reasoning behind our forays into the past?"

"You said that we might be able to gain an advantage by understanding what makes Voldemort tick," replied Harry.

"Exactly. Truly, the old adage, 'know thine enemy' applies here. The first memory I am about to show you has the most practical use, but I feel that the latter ones are just as important, if not more so. I have much to show you; today's lesson will be longer than most. But before we embark on our excursion, I must quickly recount Tom Riddle's story shortly after leaving Hogwarts. As I am sure you might have expected, Tom continued to excel at nearly everything he did. He always received top grades, and everyone expected great things from the Head Boy, and winner of the Award for Special Services to the school. I happen to know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn chief amongst them, speculating that he would join the Ministry of Magic; Professor Slughorn even went as far as to offer to put Riddle in touch with some very influential contacts. What no one expected, however, was for prodigious Tom Riddle Jr. to take up employment at Borgin and Burkes."

"Borgin and Burkes?" Harry repeated, stunned.

"Yes, Borgin and Burkes," repeated Dumbledore calmly. "I think you will see what attractions the place held for him once we have viewed the memory in question. But this was not Voldemort's first choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time — I was one of the few in whom the then headmaster confided — but Voldemort first approached Professor Dippet and asked whether he could remain at Hogwarts as a teacher."

"Why would he want to become a teacher?" asked Harry, feeling that he couldn't find anyone less suited to the job than Voldemort.

"I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet," said Dumbledore. "Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home."

Harry felt slightly discomforted at these words, for this was exactly how he felt about Hogwarts, too.

"Secondly," continued Dumbledore, "the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly, Voldemort had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through this place, but he may have felt that there were still mysteries to unravel — stores of magic to tap. Thirdly, as a teacher, he would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Perhaps he had gained the idea from Professor Slughorn, the teacher with whom he was on best terms, and who had demonstrated how influential a role a teacher can play. I do not imagine for an instant that Voldemort envisaged spending the rest of his life at Hogwarts, but I do think that he saw it as a useful recruiting ground, and a place where he might begin to build himself an army."

"Obviously, he didn't get the job."

"No, he did not. Professor Dippet told him that he was too young at eighteen, but invited him to reapply in a few years, if he still wished to teach."

"Which subject was he planning to teach?" asked Harry. "Was it Defense Against the Dark Arts?" That made the most sense to Harry.

"Indeed, it was. It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the name of Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years."

This triggered something from Harry's memories. "In Slughorn's memory — that was why he was so interested in whether or not Merrythought was retiring."

"Precisely. As it was, he did not receive his coveted post. And so he went off to Borgin and Burkes. All the staff who had admired him said what a terrible waste it was — a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However, Voldemort was no mere assistant. Polite, handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specializes, as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."

"I'll bet he was," said Harry, unable to contain himself.

"Well, quite," said Dumbledore, with a faint smile. "And now it is time to hear from Millie the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich, and very grumpy witch by the name of Winifred Abney" [2].

Dumbledore tapped a bottle with his wand, the cork flew out, and he tipped the swirling memory into the Pensieve, saying as he did so, "After you, Harry."

This memory was short, and to Harry, there was nothing of too much interest to note. The old, cranky woman in the memory was trying to sell goblin-made armor of her late husband, as she insisted she was going to die soon and since she had no children to pass it on to, she might as well leave her sister's children some money. ('Someone's gotta fix up those ragamuffins,' she said.) She was quite gruff and rude, but Tom hid his annoyance well underneath a mechanic smile. Then, quite by chance, the young, handsome Tom Riddle got a glimpse of the gleaming silver cup. He politely inquired of its origins as if by casual interest, but Harry could see the hungry gleam in his eyes. The old woman, not swayed by Riddle's charms, seemed to notice this and declared that it was not for sale. She called her house-elf Millie to take it away. Then, suddenly, Harry was pulled out of the memory.

"Winifred died two days after that first little scene," said Dumbledore, resuming his seat and indicating that Harry should do the same. "Old age, was the conclusion. Millie testified to this as well."

Harry was skeptical. "I know she was old, but… that seems like too big of a coincidence."

"I see we are of one mind," said Dumbledore. "Certainly, there are many similarities between this death and that of the Riddles. In both cases, no blame was allotted to a guilty person. The Ministry was not inclined to investigate the matter, as Mrs. Abney was very old, and no foul play was apparent. Moreover, when Mrs. Abney's possessions were given to her extended family, the cup was nowhere to be found, but before Mrs. Abney's family realized that the family heirloom was missing, the assistant who had worked at Borgin and Burkes resigned his post and vanished. His superiors had no idea where he had gone; they were as surprised as anyone at his disappearance. And that was the last that was seen or heard of Tom Riddle for a very long time."

"So, he did find objects for his Horcrux, then. The cup was obviously Hufflepuff's? We've got the locket, the ring, the cup, the snake, and the diary… That makes five horcruxes… that still leaves one more."

"Yes, I think we can be fairly certain that these are indeed the items he chose to encase the fragments of his soul. Another piece of evidence I have come across corroborates with this line of thinking. As I've told you before, Merope sold Slytherin's locket. But Tom Riddle undoubtedly hunted it down. You see, while Riddle's mother sold the locket at a bargain's price to Burke, eventually, the locket came to find Tom Riddle's old orphanage."

"What?" asked Harry, dumbstruck. "How?"

"An old woman from a family with a long history of affluence bought the locket, wanting a piece of history. But she was greedy and without family, and so she put no one down in her will to pass down her inordinate amount of wealth. The Ministry keeps track of valuable items such as Slytherin's locket, and so identified the last previous owner as Merope Gaunt, actually, Merope Riddle. Burke, of course, was most distraught, fully expecting to resell the invaluable item. However, the only known relative was her son, Tom. At this time, no one knew where Riddle might be found. As far as anyone knew, he had disappeared from the face of the planet. So the item was given to Theresa Cole, Tom's former caretaker. Months later, Mrs. Cole died from what medical personal described as cardiac failure; however, I am sure you realize what actually happened. The only reason I discovered this fact is that I read the Muggle newspaper, which many magical folk mistakenly consider a waste of time. Mrs. Cole had been at the children's home for many years and was a major part of the community there. She was well-liked by many, and so when I saw her obituary, it didn't take much effort on my part to piece the puzzle together and realized what had happened."

So Voldemort killed his old caretaker, and used her death to create a new Horcrux, placing his precious hardware into the cave where he once haunted his fellow orphans. "I don't understand how he could kill the one person who took care of him, just for his Horcrux," said Harry.

"There are few who can. With this, we can be almost certain of which items Voldemort chose in which to encase his soul. The more difficult part, of course, is to locate these items, and even harder, to find a way to destroy them. There is so little known about this form of magic."

"That's one down — the diary… and five to go… Are you close to finding any of them, sir?" asked Harry. He ran through the items once more in his head. _The diary, the locket, the ring, the cup, the snake…_

"I believe so, two, in fact. But that is for another time. This next memory is more evidence of Tom Riddle's progress on his life's goal to become immune to death… Ten years separates Millie's memory and this one — ten years during which we can only guess what Lord Voldemort was doing…" Harry got to his feet once more as Dumbledore emptied the swirling memory into the Pensieve.

"Whose memory is it?" he asked.

"Mine," said Dumbledore.

Harry dived after Dumbledore through the shifting silver mass once again, landing in the very office he had just left. Fawkes was slumbering happily on his perch, and there behind the desk was Dumbledore himself, looking very similar to the Dumbledore standing beside him; though his face was, perhaps, a little less lined and his hair a little greyer and less silver. The younger Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for something and, sure enough, moments after Harry and the present-day Dumbledore's arrival, there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," said the younger Dumbledore.

Harry let out small gasp. Voldemort had entered the room. His features were not those Harry had seen emerge from the great stone cauldron almost two years ago — they were not as serpentine, his eyes were not red — yet he was no longer the handsome Tom Riddle. It was as though his features were waxy and oddly distorted, and the whites of the eyes now had a permanently bloody look. He was wearing a long black cloak, and his face was pale as bone.

The Dumbledore behind the desk showed no sign of surprise. Evidently this visit had been made by appointment.

"Good evening, Tom," said Dumbledore easily. "Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," said Voldemort, and he took the seat to which Dumbledore had gestured — the very seat that Harry had just vacated in the present. "I heard that you had become headmaster," he said, and his voice was slightly higher and colder than it had been. "A worthy choice."

"I am glad you approve," said Dumbledore, smiling. "May I offer you a drink?"

"That would be welcome," said Voldemort. "I have come a long way."

Dumbledore stood and swept over to a cabinet, and retrieved a bottle of wine. He handed Voldemort a goblet of wine and poured one for himself, then returned to the seat behind his desk… "So, Tom… to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Voldemort did not answer at once, but merely sipped his wine.

"They do not call me 'Tom' anymore," he said. "These days, I am known as —"

"I know what you are known as," said Dumbledore, smiling, pleasantly. "But to me, I'm afraid, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of those irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges' youthful beginnings."

He raised his glass as though toasting Voldemort, whose face remained expressionless. Nevertheless, Harry felt the atmosphere in the room change subtly: Dumbledore's refusal to use Voldemort's chosen name was a refusal to allow Voldemort to dictate the terms of the meeting, and Harry could tell that Voldemort took it as such.

"I am surprised you have remained here so long," said Voldemort after a short pause. "I always wondered why a wizard such as yourself never wished to leave school."

"Well," said Dumbledore, still smiling, "to a wizard such as myself, there can be nothing more important than passing on ancient skills, helping hone young minds. If I remember correctly, you once saw the attraction of teaching too."

"I see it still," said Voldemort. "I merely wondered why you — who are so often asked for advice by the Ministry, and who have twice, I think, been offered the post of Minister —"

"Three times at the last count, actually," said Dumbledore. "But the Ministry never attracted me as a career. Again, something we have in common, I think."

Voldemort inclined his head, unsmiling, and took another sip of wine. Dumbledore did not break the silence that stretched between them now, but waited, with a look of pleasant expectancy, for Voldemort to speak.

"I have returned," he said, after a little while, "later, perhaps, than Professor Dippet expected… but I have returned, nevertheless, to request again what he once told me I was too young to have. I have come to you to ask that you permit me to return to this castle to teach. I think you must know that I have seen and done much since I left this place. I could show and tell your students things they could gain from no other wizard."

Dumbledore considered Voldemort over the top of his own goblet for a while before speaking.

"Yes, I certainly do know that you have seen and done much since leaving us," he said quietly. "Rumors of your doings have reached your old school, Tom. I should be sorry to believe half of them."

Voldemort's expression remained impassive as he said, "Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies. You must know this, Dumbledore."

"You call it 'greatness,' what you have been doing, do you?" asked Dumbledore delicately.

"Certainly," said Voldemort, and his eyes seemed to burn red. "I have experimented; I have pushed the boundaries of magic further, perhaps, than they have ever been pushed —"

"Of some kinds of magic," Dumbledore corrected him quietly. "Of some. Of others, you remain… forgive me… woefully ignorant."

For the first time, Voldemort smiled. It was a taut leer, an evil thing, more threatening than a look of rage.

"The old argument," he said softly. "But nothing I have seen in the world has supported your famous pronouncements that love is more powerful than my kind of magic, Dumbledore."

"Perhaps you have been looking in the wrong places," suggested Dumbledore.

"Well, then, what better place to start my researches anew than here, at Hogwarts?" said Voldemort. "Will you let me return? Will you let me share my knowledge with your students? I place myself and my talents at your disposal. I am yours to command."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "And what will become of those whom you command? What will happen to those who call themselves — or so rumor has it — the Death Eaters?"

Harry could tell that Voldemort had not expected Dumbledore to know this name; he saw Voldemort's eyes flash red again and the slit-like nostrils flare.

"My friends," he said, after a moment's pause, "will carry on without me, I am sure."

"I am glad to hear that you consider them friends," said Dumbledore. "I was under the impression that they are more in the order of servants."

"You are mistaken," said Voldemort.

"Then if I were to go to the Hog's Head tonight, I would not find a group of them — Nott, Rosier, Muldber, Dolohov — awaiting your return? Devoted friends indeed, to travel this far with you on a wet, cold night, merely to wish you luck as you attempted to secure a teaching post."

There could be no doubt that Dumbledore's detailed knowledge of those with whom he was traveling was even less welcome to Voldemort; however, he rallied almost at once.

"You are omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."

"Oh no, merely friendly with the local barmen," said Dumbledore lightly. "Now, Tom…"

Dumbledore set down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers together in a very characteristic gesture.

"Let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"

Voldemort looked coldly surprised. "A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you are after, Tom? Why not try an open and honest request for once?"

Voldemort sneered. "If you do not want to give me a job —"

"Of course I don't," said Dumbledore. "And I do not think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."

Voldemort stood up. He looked less like Tom Riddle than ever, his features thick with rage. "This is your final word?"

"It is," said Dumbledore, also standing.

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

"No, nothing," said Dumbledore, and a great sadness filled his face. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom… I wish I could…"

For a second, Harry was on the verge of shouting a pointless warning: He was sure that Voldemort's hand had twitched toward his pocket and his wand; but then the moment had passed, Voldemort had turned away, the door was closing, and he was gone.

Harry felt Dumbledore's hand close over his arm again and moments later, they were standing together on almost the same spot.

"Why did he come back?" asked Harry. "Did you ever find out?"

"I cannot be sure," said Dumbledore, "but I will hazard a guess that, having secured an object from Hufflepuff, he set out to track down an object owned by either Gryffindor of Ravenclaw. Four objects from the four founders would, I am sure, have exerted a powerful pull over Voldemort's imagination. I am confident, however, that the only known relic of Gryffindor remains safe."

"Was he after the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again, sir? He didn't say…"

"Oh, he definitely wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job," said Dumbledore. "The aftermath of our little meeting proved that. You see, we have never been able to keep a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for longer than a year since I refused the post to Lord Voldemort."

Harry stared in amazement. So it seemed the job was cursed after all. This only added to the mysterious aura of the myth; for the Defense teachers always seemed to run into unfortunate circumstances. He wondered if Snape would last more than a year. He hadn't really thought about it before, because Snape was as much of a constant at Hogwarts as the castle itself, just as Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid.

"And now, Harry, there is something I must ask you." Dumbledore interlaced his fingers and peered over them at Harry. "Why do you think Voldemort is so singularly invested in prolonging the inevitable? Besides the obvious, yes, he fears death, he fears the unknown. But he is not the only human being to possess such feelings. Why then, is he willing to go to such lengths to ensure his immortality?"

Harry was taken aback, how was he supposed to know _that_? Because he sometimes shared thoughts with him?

"I do not presume that you personally have any particular insight into this question, I simply wish to hear your thoughts on the matter," said Dumbledore, again displaying his uncanny ability to discern the thoughts of others.

"I'm not sure, sir," Harry said honestly. "Why is anybody like that? Some people are just… psychopaths."

"That may be true, but I think that this situation is not as simple as that."

What was Dumbledore talking about? Surely, he wasn't thinking that Voldemort could be redeemed?

"I think the next two memories will help explain my meaning. The first memory was rather hard to come by. I am afraid memories of young Tom Riddle are dreadfully scarce. I actually just happened to chance across this particular one [3]. The second memory was procured from none other than your Head of House, Professor McGonagall."

"McGonagall!" exclaimed Harry.

"Yes. You see, she attended Hogwarts whilst Voldemort was in school."

Harry had never even contemplated that idea. But he supposed they were both in their seventies [4].

Dumbledore tipped the last of the swirling contents into the Pensieve with Harry still frozen with astonishment. "After you, Harry," said Dumbledore, gesturing to the old stone basin. Again, Harry plunged into the flowing, fluid-like substance. Emerging on the other side, the first thing that Harry noticed was the weather. In contrast to the wet, chilly weather at Hogwarts, here, it was a truly beautiful day. The sun beamed down radiantly and there were only a few sparse, white clouds in the bright azure sky. He couldn't feel the sun's warm rays or the pleasant draft that brushed through the brilliantly green grass within the memory, but he imagined that it felt quite nice. He could almost feel himself becoming lazier and content just with the glorious view. There were a number of people outside enjoying the conditions in a more tangible way. He saw that he was in what looked like a neighborhood which he did not recognize, but it was attractive and reminiscent of Privet Drive. The perfectly manicured lawns and Victorian-style homes created so picturesque an image that Harry felt as if he had been dropped into the middle of a painting.

Then he became distracted from these thoughts as he spotted the unmistakable figure of the young Tom Riddle: tall, handsome, and carrying an atypical air of command for one so young. The next thing Harry noticed was that Riddle was wearing Muggles' clothing. _Voldemort is wearing Muggle clothes_, thought Harry, dumbfounded. Wearing a pair of plain black slacks and a dark grey button-up shirt, though strange it was to see him without his wizard's robes, no one would be able to tell that he was out of place. The light breeze played in his dark brown hair. The subject of many stares from most of the young women in proximity, he walked briskly without seeming to notice — singularly focused on the task at hand, whatever that may be. Harry and Dumbledore followed and quickened their pace to keep up. For Dumbledore, it was no problem; but for Harry who wasn't quite as tall or long-legged as either Riddle or his Headmaster, he wondered if he looked as ridiculous as the two old women he often saw speed-walking around Privet Drive on his evening runs during the summer.

As they walked, their surroundings transformed so dramatically that at first, Harry wondered if the memory had shifted again. Here, the scenic view was much less pleasant. In stark contrast to the beautiful neighborhood they had just left behind, here the area showed obvious signs of poverty and decay. And the atmosphere could not be more different. Where before the environment was tranquil and content, here the mood was grim and forlorn. The sun did not provide an inviting venue, but instead etched and intensified the bleak harshness of their surroundings. The streets were filthy and trash abounded in heaps strewn across the thoroughfare. There were people, young and old, who were clearly not as privileged as those they had passed on their stroll into town. Up ahead were a man and two children who, by the state of their clothing and the fact that they were carrying packs, Harry assumed were probably without a home. Over by the corner of an alleyway, Harry was pretty sure he saw people dealing drugs. Others looked as if they hadn't eaten or bathed in weeks. Still, other people who were on their way elsewhere much like Harry and Dumbledore themselves, walked by without even seeming to notice the desperate state in which their neighbors were living. The few that did acknowledge their existence only wore expressions of disgust or cold contempt.

_How can they be so indifferent to these people's suffering?_ Harry thought angrily. Did they not see or did they simply choose not to, blinding themselves to the less pleasant aspects of everyday life in their own community? It enraged him that they could sit comfortably inside their luxurious homes and just ignore the people in need of help not even a block away. Riddle glanced around at the people fleetingly, clearly unconcerned and thinking them to be of little significance, nothing more than a distraction. But at least, thought Harry, his haughty disdain was distributed indiscriminately — to both the rich and poor alike.

Again, Harry wondered why they were walking. Riddle could just Apparate. Harry assumed that wherever Riddle was headed, there must be a lot of people so he must have Apparated as close by as he could without being seen by Muggles. He also wondered who the memory belonged to. Dumbledore never said. But it must be one of the people nearby.

As much as Riddle wanted to get through the area as quickly as possible, he was deterred from doing so. Harry got his answer as to the owner of the memory. A young boy, no older than seven suddenly came up to Riddle. "Excuse me, sir." Harry saw Riddle's eyes flash with irritation at the inconvenience. But before he could chastise the boy, the child spoke. "Please, sir, can you help me? My —"

"I'm afraid I'm busy," Riddle replied coolly.

"Please, sir," the boy said in desperation. "I can't find my sister."

"Leave him alone, boy," said a woman who had been watching the whole thing. "Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," cried the boy, tears beginning to form in his eyes. "They died in a car crash last week."

The woman looked uncomfortable and walked away.

"Why did you lose your sister?" asked Riddle as if the boy was rather dense.

"I don't know, we just got separated. I looked up and all of the sudden, she wasn't there."

"Stop crying," demanded Riddle. The boy, surprisingly, complied. "You know that if anyone finds out, they'll take you away from your sister. You'll be put in an orphanage."

The boy looked as if he wanted to cry again, but he resisted.

Riddle gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine," he conceded, "Let's look for her."

"When did you last see her?" Riddle asked the lost boy.

"I don't know, maybe, ten minutes ago."

"Then she can't have gone too far," muttered Riddle to himself. As Harry followed the two alongside Dumbledore, he got the feeling that something about the scene was vaguely familiar, but he wasn't sure why.

Not long after they set off to look for the boy's sister, they were accosted by an old, ragged man.

"That's a mighty fine suit you got there, sonny," he said to Riddle.

"Stand aside, beggar. I've no time for you."

"Oh, there you are, boy. I've been looking for him. He's my son, you see." The beggar reached out towards the boy, who started to yell, "No, I'm not! Get off me! I don't know you!"

"What is your son's name?" posed Riddle.

"I know, it's… uh… none of your business." The man was clearly not the boy's father.

"I'm sure," Riddle replied sardonically. "Come on," he said to the boy, "Let's go."

"No, wait!" The homeless man grabbed for the child, who screamed in protest. "Let me go!" shouted the boy.

"Let go of him," Riddle replied calmly. The man paid no heed to Riddle, however, and continued to try and take the child. "No!" the boy cried out. But the man would not let go, and Riddle pulled out his wand. With a swish, the man was thrown backwards as if from a violent blow. "Now, let's go," he said as the man showed no signs of getting up. The boy stood looking torn between gratitude and amazement. "What was _that_?" he asked, pointing at Riddle's pocket where he had stowed his wand. Riddle hesitated then simply said, "Magic."

"Magic?" the boy repeated in awe. Harry was shocked that Riddle was helping the boy at all, and even more so that he simply hadn't erased the boy's memory. But then, Harry supposed, it wouldn't be possible to view this memory. "Can you learn how to use it?" the boy asked?

"No, you can't just learn it. You have to possess it naturally. You would know if you could use magic by now."

The boy looked a bit less enthused, but not much, clearly still excited by what had transpired.

Riddle stopped and turned to look at the boy. "Don't tell anyone about this. If you do, they'll think you're crazy and you'll be taken away from your sister."

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," the boy pledged stoutly.

A few minutes later, they found the boy's sister. She looked to be the same age as Riddle, and she thanked Riddle profusely. He chose to ignore this and was clearly eager to be off. When the boy thanked him, Riddle gave a slight nod of his head. The boy asked if he'd ever see him again, but Riddle was already gone and out of sight.

The memory transformed until Harry could tell that he was in one of the dormitories — Gryffindor, if the colors of the decorum were any indication. And then he saw something that he was not quite prepared for even though he had been forewarned about what was coming: a young Minerva McGonagall. At first, Harry hardly recognized her, but she wore her hair in that same bun (albeit free of grey) and square-rimmed glasses. It seemed that she, like Harry, possessed horrible eyesight from a young age. It was rather strange to see his old professor in her early years.

There were also two other girls. One was lying on her bed, reading a magazine, and the other, trying to fix a stubborn broken necklace. McGonagall was marking her place in a book and setting it aside on her table.

"Prefect duties tonight, Minnie?" said the girl reading her magazine.

_Minnie?_ Harry had to stifle a laugh. He was sure that he could earn himself a few thousand detentions if he ever dared to call his stern professor by that name.

"Yes. Sorry, Sophia, I'll have to help you with your homework tomorrow."

"That's fine. I think I've got it anyways, but it's probably best if you give it a look later," said the other girl.

"Who are you on duty with?" asked the third girl.

"I hope for your sake it's not that Radford boy, or Camilla — she's a total cow," said Sophia.

"No, it's… Tom Riddle," said McGonagall. The other two girls started to giggle.

"Not you, too, Evelyn," she said in exasperation.

"Oh, come now," Sophia reasoned. "Even you have to admit that he is quite dashing."

"— and handsome," added Evelyn.

"— and clever. Some would even say cleverer than even you. Actually, come to think of it, you'd make quite the match, you two."

The young McGonagall made a face, and the other two girls laughed.

"Oh, but we must find a beau for you, Minerva."

"Well, I'm sorry if I am more interested in my studies than chasing boys. What, are we third years? And you two would do well to follow suit, what with our N.E.W.T. examinations coming up next year," she said brusquely, reminding Harry eerily of Hermione.

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Here she goes again. You know, it's perfectly alright to relax now and again."

"I never said —"

"If you'd just let me fix your hair and dress you up a bit, you'd have all those boys in line," said Sophia.

"That's not necessary," muttered a blushing McGonagall.

"Why not? It'd be fun. Just let me this one night, please, and you'll be sure to catch Riddle's eye."

"I don't think —"

"Blasted thing!"

McGonagall and Sophia turned to stare at Evelyn's sudden outburst. "Sorry," she grinned sheepishly. "But I cannot for the life of me, fix this darned necklace. It was my mother's, she'd be dreadfully upset if she found out it was broken."

"Then why didn't you simply ask?" With a tap of her wand, McGonagall repaired the necklace as if no damage had ever been done.

"Thanks a heap, Minerva."

"Don't mention it."

"Now, about tonight —"

"Save it, Sophia, I don't want to impress Riddle. Besides, there's not enough time."

"I still think you'd make a fetching pair. Riddle only wants the best, and you're certainly intelligent enough to be on his level. You'd be one of the loveliest looking girls, too, if you allowed yourself to loosen up."

"I've already told you, I'm not interested in a relationship right now; I don't need one. And I certainly don't want one with Riddle."

"What?" the girls exclaimed in astonishment. "Why ever not?" questioned Sophia. "He's positively exquisite," she added with a dreamy look on her face.

"He's perfect," Evelyn concurred.

"But don't you think he's almost… too perfect? Too charming?" said McGonagall.

"Too charming, she says," Sophie said in exasperated amusement.

"No really," insisted McGonagall. "There's something not quite right about him, something… off."

So his professor wasn't fooled by Riddle's charms, Harry thought. It didn't surprise him that she would be one of the few to see through his visage.

"Yes, how utterly delightful he is. He's one of a kind, that's what's unusual," Sophie maintained.

"He's always so polite," added Evelyn.

"— and modest."

"— and mysterious."

"— and cold," finished McGonagall.

The other two girls looked at her in surprise. "Well, he is. You wouldn't understand, I've been on duty with him before. It's as if… I'm not sure what it is, but I get this strange feeling whenever I'm alone with him."

"They're called hormones, Minerva."

"No… If you look at his eyes… I know this might sound crazy, but I get the instinct that I need to run as far away as possible — like I should be afraid of something."

"Afraid that you might actually fall in love with someone?" Sophia teased.

"That's definitely not it," she replied tersely. "I just — I don't trust him."

"Whatever, I think all of that studying has made you slightly paranoid."

"Think what you want, but I know what I'm talking about," said McGonagall with a touch of impatience this time. She glanced at the clock, "I really must be going now."

"Have fu-u-n," Evelyn said exaggeratedly.

McGongall made sure to give her friends one last stern glare — Harry, being quite familiar with this expression thought that McGonagall was quite recognizable here — before closing the door behind her.

She walked downstairs, traversing some of the less-used corridors, until she met a dark figure by the head of one of the other connecting stairwells.

"McGongall," Riddle said emotionlessly. Harry saw his 'Head Boy' badge gleaming upon his chest.

"Riddle," she replied in kind.

The unlikely pair walked down the darkened hall in silence. Through the stillness, an unidentifiable noise could be heard. Riddle and McGonagall glanced at each other and continued down the corridor at a faster pace, taking care not to make too much noise on the way and alert whomever it was to their presence. As they turned a couple of corners, the noise got louder, and eventually they came upon two boys arguing in hissing whispers. They had their back to the prefects and from behind it was clear that the boys, who looked to be in their fourth year, were smuggling sweets from the kitchens. Struggling to carry their considerable load of goodies, a couple of frosted pastries fell to the floor in the process.

"Halt," said Riddle in a commanding voice. "What is that you are doing out of bed after hours?" he asked. The two boys stopped in their tracks. It was dark in the hallway (it always was on the lower floors), and from the boys' vantage point, they could only see McGonagall. Upon seeing her they smirked. "What are you gonna do? Go to the teachers and tell on us? Why don't you and your boyfriend get out of here? You're out, too."

"That's because we are prefects. As for what I will do, I think taking ten points each from Hufflepuff is appropriate."

"Narc," Harry heard the other boy mutter.

"Points? For getting a snack when we're hungry? Of course you would. You know, you don't have to be such a bitch," he said flippantly.

In a flash, Harry saw Riddle swish his wand and then there was a sound like the crack of a whip. The boy who had so rudely addressed McGongall stumbled backwards and clasped his left cheek which Harry could see even beneath his hand was red and smarting. Riddle then stepped out of the dark shadow and into the soft light of the torch hung on the wall. However, the light only made his features look harsh; he was no less handsome, but it made him look menacing.

"R-Riddle," the boy said, understandably stuttering upon his words. "I-I didn't know it was you. I —"

"You should not speak so brazenly to your superiors," Riddle said coldly. The gesture would have appeared to be one of defense for McGonagall's sake, yet in his eyes was not the righteous anger you would normally expect in this situation, but an almost sadistic satisfaction in hurting and frightening the younger boy. Harry was certain that it wasn't indignation on McGonagall's behalf that compelled him to act in such a way, but an opportunity to use his position of power to force others into submission.

"Of-of course. Sorry… We-I didn't mean anything by it. I just —"

"Now get out of here before I decide to add to the punishment already administered to you."

The two boys scurried to get away, leaving their midnight snack laying forgotten on the floor. Riddle Vanished the debris with a lazy wave of his wand.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," McGonagall said weakly. "They're just words. And from an immature teenage boy, no less."

"I know," Riddle said. "But you deserve respect."

_What?_ When had Voldemort ever respected anyone but himself? thought Harry. He was by now thoroughly confused. He looked on with increased interest as Riddle and McGongall continued their rounds. After a while, Riddle inquired, "How go your studies?"

"Well enough, thank you."

"Do you have a preference as to which class interests you the most?"

"I like all of my classes, but I would have to say Transfiguration is my favorite," replied McGonagall. She looked slightly bewildered, Harry was sure it was because Riddle did not usually engage in small talk. There must be some reason; and it must be why Dumbledore thought that this memory was important enough for him to see.

"Transfiguration? I find it fascinating also; although, I must admit I have more of an inclination towards the Dark Arts."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts — the class, you mean?" McGonagall corrected warily.

"Of course," Riddle replied with apparent ease, yet Harry could see that his professor-turned-young still looked a bit apprehensive. "What else would I be talking about?"

McGonagall wisely chose not to answer this question.

"I have heard that you are exceptionally gifted in Transfiguration, of course," continued Riddle. "It is refreshing to talk to other students who share my passion of learning. Most others are caught up in their own trivial matters. I was actually considering making a student coalition of sorts; not quite like a study group, but rather an assembly of a small number of like-minded students who are curious and wish to understand more about our world. We would pool our knowledge together to enhance our learning experience here at Hogwarts, and it would give us an opportunity to move beyond what is taught in the classroom. You would be a perfect candidate. I am wondering whether or not you'd be interested in something like this?" Riddle spoke smoothly, and held just the right amount of charm, none of it overdone. He seemed genuinely earnest, and his description seemed innocuous enough; but Harry knew better, and McGonagall, it seemed, did as well.

"That sounds wonderful," she said. "But I'm afraid I'm very busy with Quidditch. We have the championship-determining match coming up, and scheduling is hard with different years on the team."

"Oh yes, you are the Quidditch captain for Gryffindor." (Here, Harry smiled.) "I forgot. Still, would you not agree that enriching your intellectual growth is more important than playing a child's game on flying brooms?"

He didn't break his fascia of politeness, and his statement did not appear to be disdainful or patronizing; nevertheless, McGonagall looked irked for the first time.

Sensing this Riddle said, "I wouldn't be requesting this of just anyone. I want only the best." Funny, Harry thought, thinking on what Sophia had said earlier. She had been right, only not in the way she thought.

"I'm flattered, and would like to join, but I can't let my teammates down. I have to consider more than just myself." Harry could tell that McGonagall was being careful, and he was sure Riddle saw it, too. However, he simply said, "Very well. I'm sorry you won't participate… but I understand. If you ever change your mind, just let me know."

He seemed gracious enough, but Harry could sense his disappointment. He figured that the reason Riddle had reprimanded the boys so harshly earlier was in part to earn some favor from McGongall. Ironic, as it only put her off more.

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," McGonagall said simply. Riddle gave a curt nod then continued to patrol the halls as if nothing had transpired. Then, Harry could feel himself being sucked out of the memory for the last time.

For a while, he stood in shock. Voldemort had tried to recruit his professor, his own Head of House, to join the Death Eaters. McGongall, a Death Eater… It was too bizarre to envision. Out of everyone he knew, she was one of the least likely people he could think of as being a Death Eater after Dumbledore and perhaps Hagrid. Yet she had had a real opportunity to become one at the behest of none other than Voldemort himself.

"I understand that the implications of this memory are difficult to fully realize," said Dumbledore with a hint of amusement. For Harry, sitting there in amazement, he had forgotten that he was still there with Dumbledore in his office. Marshaling his thoughts together, he finally found his voice to ask, "Does Professor McGonagall know that Tom Riddle became Voldemort, then?"

"She did not until very recently. Very few know of Lord Voldemort's true identity. But I knew your professor attended school with him during his Hogwart's years, and that they had both been prefects. They were only two years apart. I knew it was likely that they had had at least some contact. Whether or not anything of importance had occurred during that time, I did not know, but I felt that I could trust her and that passing up such an opportunity to gain potentially vital information would be a terrible lapse in judgment and, very possibly, a costly oversight. While she, unlike her companions, had her suspicions of young Tom Riddle; she was nevertheless surprised when I revealed to her that that same man would grow to become the most feared dark wizard of our time. At least at first; however, once given time to reflect upon the sensation she experienced around her classmate of old, it was not all that shocking that the man formerly called Tom Riddle was, in fact, Voldemort."

"Now, Harry," continued Dumbledore, "I want to draw your attention to a couple of things. Do you notice anything unusual about the second memory?"

"Besides that he was trying to recruit McGongall into the Death Eaters?"

"And what do you find specifically odd about that?"

"Well, she's a Gryffindor… but was the rivalry as bad during Riddle's time, or just afterwards?" asked Harry.

"There was a rivalry, and it was only just becoming more strained at the time."

"Is she pure-blood?"

"No, she is not. She is a Half-blood, like you. But there are so few Pure-bloods left that his recruitment of Half-bloods or those that were not completely Pure-blood was not uncommon."

"But she obviously didn't buy into the ideal. I'm sure she was friends with a lot of Muggle-borns. Riddle must have known that."

"Yes, I am sure he did. But despite that, he still wanted her. He values skill and talent over heritage, and that is something which is antithetical to the philosophy he promotes to his followers."

"You don't think he actually believes that Muggle-borns are inferior?"

"I believe he simply thinks that all people, Muggle-borns and Pure-bloods alike, are inferior to himself. The difference between the two matters little to him. You'll remember that he once expressed his belief that his mother must have been the parent who did not possess magic because she succumbed to death; but once he learned that it was in fact his father who was not magical, I believe his personal opinion shifted."

"So you think he's just using the Pure-bloods because they're powerful, and he's using their prejudices to influence them?"

"An excellent observation, Harry; I could not have put it better myself," said Dumbledore in approval. "That is precisely what I suspect. The other thing I think is important to note is that Professor McGonagall's memory confirms what we have already speculated: Riddle was already recruiting his followers whilst still at school. A prodigious goal for one so young."

"What about the other memory? What was the significance of that?" Harry asked. "He helped the boy, but why? Was it because he was an orphan, like Riddle? I wonder if he was thinking about his mother when he helped the boy. I get the feeling he resented his mother for abandoning him."

"It is not difficult to see why he might feel that way. Incidentally, did you recognize where we were in the memory?"

"It looked familiar."

"That is because he was in London near his old orphanage. I believe he was on his way to there to retrieve the locket and create another Horcrux."

Harry sat, dazed. How could Riddle be so seemingly kind by helping out a little boy, only to, moments later, kill an innocent — and from what Harry had seen — decent woman? Was he ever conflicted, or was he as certain about his path as he seemed?

Harry voiced this opinion to Dumbledore, who said, "Similar thoughts have crossed my mind. Could it be possible that Voldemort was once capable of showing compassion? Did he sympathize with the abandoned child and identify with his situation? Certainly it seems that he no longer possesses the ability; however, if this was not always the case, what changed? And more importantly, why did he carve out such a destructive and desolate path for himself? This memory was a revelation for me, as it is clear that he did possess the ability to feel compassion for other human beings at one point in his life. While he may have been more innocent as a young boy, I still believed at the time that he had always retained a certain disregard for others. He certainly did; but even so, given the evidence, I do believe that it was once possible for him to come back to the light as it were. I was never quite sure if he was actually capable, but now the answer is clear."

"But why?" Harry wondered aloud. "What made him that way, he was just born like that? You really don't think that he could have made different choices?"

"Of course he could have made alternate, more honorable decisions. Do not misunderstand me, Harry, I believe that he is absolutely culpable for all of the pain and suffering caused by his hand. But I do think it is in his nature to be cold and unfeeling. As I have said, I originally thought that he might have simply always been the way he is. But it seems that is not entirely true. During his fragile childhood years, he may have been disturbed, but he was not yet a monster. What happened is a consequence of how he was born, and what happened, or rather what did not happen, afterwards. Remember, he never had anyone that cared for him growing up. While your parents died protecting you, his father wanted nothing to do with him and his mother could not muster up the will to live for him. That was all he ever knew, and it became the foundation of his childhood. I would further conjecture that his mother's bewitchment of Tom Riddle Senior has a lot to do with Tom Riddle Junior's disposition. You see, he was not born out of love as is usual, but from the coercion of an unwilling participant. And while Merope's intentions were not meant to cause any harm, her marriage to Tom Riddle Senior was not legitimate in the sense that his parents had never truly loved each other. He was conceived by a love potion, as you know. This, and the fact that his mother did not choose to live to nurture and love her son, I believe, has a lot to do with why Voldemort does not feel like the average person does. The result of a loveless union, his inability to understand love is hardly surprising."

"There is no excuse for Voldemort's actions," continued Dumbledore, "however, you would have to be foolishly ignorant not to see the tragedy in his story. I am certain if his mother survived and loved and raised her son, he would not be the inhuman being he is today. Despite this fact, he still had a chance, however slim, to grow to be an ordinary boy. But as a young child, while he was looked after and had a place to eat and sleep, he did not have anyone in his life that truly cared for him. The matrons were uncomfortable with him, and the children were afraid of him. Isolated and alone, all that knew him alienated him. And so, with this cruel vision of the world formulated in his mind, he judged everything and everyone in it to be inherently untrustworthy. The only person he could depend and count upon was himself… How truly tragic it is to never love or be loved — to never know and understand what it means, and the wonder it is to behold… Yes, we must fight Voldemort, we must aim for his demise — for he is too entrenched within his own darkness for him to have any hope of redeeming himself, only further compounded by the self-induced disintegration of his soul. Yes, he has done terrible things, things that are unthinkable. But given his circumstances, the results are not especially shocking; we can see where the seeds of intolerance were sowed within — it is all he has ever known. His actions, we abhor. But Voldemort himself is not to be hated, but pitied; for there is nothing valuable to be gained in such an emotion as hatred. Remember the dead, Harry, but pity the living; pity all those who have lost so much in this war because of one man's irrational fear. And most importantly, pity those with nothing to live for."

When their lesson ended, Harry was left pondering over their discussion, and the memories he saw. He hated what Voldemort represented, and wanted nothing more than for him to disappear. The world would be better off without him; that much was obvious. Harry knew that his parents had loved him, they had sacrificed their lives for him. And while his relatives that remained alive never accepted him, he was not the byproduct of a forced and loveless marriage. Who's to say that Harry himself would be the same person he was now if he had been born to Riddle's situation?

He was still as determined as he ever was to fight against Voldemort and defeat him. But it was disturbing to think that the terrifying Dark Lord's fate could most likely have been prevented. If only someone had cared… Dumbledore was right, it didn't justify his actions, but it put everything into a new perspective. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine his life without his friends or all those whom he cared for… what a horrible way to live indeed. If Harryy hadn't witnessed it with his own eyes, he'd have never believed that there were ever glimpses of a Riddle who might have been reformed, who wasn't mired too deeply into a black pit of emptiness. But the memories had proven that to be the case. But no one had reached out, and now those moments were long past. He deserved to die, Harry realized. Because to lead such a life — if you could call it that — is something that no one should be subjected to. Not even Voldemort. Looking at all the deaths that had occurred under Voldemort's reign of terror, it no longer evoked a burning anger within Harry's heart, but a profound sadness and sorrow. The loss of life was completely unnecessary. He was not the least bit deterred from his path, for there was no other option: Voldemort must be destroyed. But Harry realized that, yes, he did feel sorry for him.

. *** .

Hermione ate a late lunch alone the next day [5]. Harry and Ron only had a morning class that day, and they were now practicing for their upcoming Quidditch game. She didn't fancy that, not only because of her aversion to flying, but because the castle was suffused with the sound of hail drumming against the high ceiling. The noise was accentuated by the fact that the Great Hall was almost empty. It was late, Hermione reasoned. She supposed everyone not in class were most likely cozying up to the fireplace in their common rooms. Not a bad idea, thought Hermione. _Maybe I'll sit in my favorite chair and finally get around to reading that book_. About to take a bite of her steaming potato soup, she stopped short when a flying piece of paper nearly landed in it. She looked around, but the few people in the hall were all engrossed in their own doings. Opening the note, it read: "Meet me at the Astronomy tower tonight. Need to talk." There was no signature on the letter. But looking closely, she saw at the bottom a picture of a small ferret which was being repeatedly pummeled into the ground by a grotesque caricature of their former Professor Moody. She smiled to herself; it seemed he had a sense of humor after all. Furtively glancing around the room again, she saw Malfoy in the back corner. No one else seemed to notice what had happened. She looked at the note again, it didn't specify a time. She'd have to let him know, but she didn't dare send the note back, in case anyone had noticed. Dumbledore had made it clear that no one must find out. She'd see him in their Arithmancy class, which she would be going to after lunch [6].

She flipped over Malfoy's note and wrote, "10:30." Next, she decided that she could play along, too. Although she was not the world's greatest artist, she nevertheless put her own touches on the note. She then stuffed the parchment inside her pocket and looked over the Slytherin table one last time, but Malfoy was already gone.

In class, Hermione noticed Malfoy glancing over, so she pulled the note from her pocket to show him that she had a response, but he just turned his attention back to the front of the classroom where Professor Vector was lecturing. Once class was done, she held the note in her hand while preparing to leave. On his way to the door, Malfoy bumped in to her, apparently by accident, and said, "Watch where you're going, Granger." She clenched her hand; the note was gone.

Draco walked briskly down the hall and entered the first empty room he came across to read her message. He gave a small snort of amusement upon seeing her drawing of herself — bushy hair and all — carrying a load of books and then falling to the floor from the weight, as the books toppled over her until the stick-figure Hermione was no longer visible.

He wasn't sure why he was soliciting this meeting. He supposed she was the only one he could talk to. Well, he _could_ talk to Potter or Weasley, but he certainly wouldn't chose to do so willingly. There was no one else he could turn to. He couldn't tell anyone in his House, and even if he could trust Crabbe and Goyle to be loyal enough not to divulge his secret, he certainly couldn't trust them to be smart enough.

That night, as he neared the staircase that led to the Astronomy tower he saw Granger coming down the hallway to his right. He waited for her there, glad that neither of them had been caught. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked quietly.

"Hold on, not here," he said, looking around for any signs of a patrol or Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, and beginning to climb the stairs.

"You're not going to try and push me off the top, are you?"

Draco looked at her. There was a playful twist to her mouth; she had been kidding. He smiled back lightly. "Damn," he said, snapping his fingers, "you've figured out my evil plan."

"Why the Astronomy tower?" asked Hermione once they arrived at the top.

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "I just thought we'd be safe here."

"It _is_ beautiful up here," said Hermione, walking up to crenellations of the parapet and looking around. "Sometimes I forget that. I mean, with everything going on, I just don't take the time to appreciate… well…"

"…how special Hogwarts is," concluded Draco.

She glanced over at him. "Yes. Exactly."

As they both took some time to reflect, Hermione said, "Look at them. There are so many stars. You know, well maybe you don't, but most of the time you can't see most of them. At least where I live, where there's a lot of light pollution. Not like out here."

"I used to look up at stars a lot when I was younger. My father would get angry when he caught me doing it, though."

"Angry? Why?" asked Hermione, perplexed. She could think of no logical reason why that would upset anyone, not even Lucius Malfoy.

"He said I was too absent-minded; that I needed to focus my mind on more important matters."

"And you were just a kid?"

"Yeah, even back then he was…" he trailed off. "It was always strictly business with him; no time to waste fooling around. Instead of having my head stuck in the clouds, I needed to be more concerned with the here and now, he would always say," said Draco, sitting down.

"You know, looking at the stars, we're actually looking at the past. The light takes time to reach us. Sometimes, what we see now actually happened millions of years ago."

"Really?" asked Draco, slightly taken aback. Hermione nodded her head. After a while she joined Draco on the floor and said, "Draco, I know why you asked me here wasn't to talk about stars. You wouldn't have asked me to come here unless you had a very good reason."

"Right…" he then explained as quickly as he could, the choices Dumbledore laid before him.

"You're actually thinking about becoming a spy?" asked Hermione in wonder.

Draco shrugged. "I don't know. What do you think?"

"Draco, it's not my decision. I can't tell you what to do. This is your choice."

"But _you_ would, wouldn't you? You would become a spy. You wouldn't hide. No one of you guys would."

"I-I don't know," stammered Hermione.

"Yes, you do," said Draco, unconvinced.

"Look, it doesn't matter," said Hermione, trying to mollify him.

Draco hugged his knees a little closer to his body and said, "I'll be known as a coward. That's how everyone will see me — a slimy snake who slithered his way out of his problem."

"No one will think badly of you for deciding to leave the Death Eaters; it was very brave, what you did. And if they do, then they're wrong. Don't put your life in jeopardy just because you think some people will judge you."

"So you think I shouldn't be a spy."

"I didn't say that. It's not up to me. You have to do what you feel is right."

"Right? What's right for me, or right for everyone else?"

"For you," persisted Hermione. "What do _you_ want?"

Draco paused for a moment, then sighed in frustration. "I don't know! I don't know what I want."

"Well… what do you think would make you happier?"

To tell the truth, neither of his alternatives seemed particularly "happy". But he got the gist of what she meant. Ultimately, which choice would he be more satisfied with? Which decision could he be proud of? He knew which, but he was having trouble committing. It was so out of his realm, he just wasn't comfortable reinventing himself now. But in way, he wanted to. He wanted the people he would now be working with to trust him, to admire him. No, he shouldn't do something just to influence how others felt about him, but he had no desire to merely be an inconvenience. He wanted to prove his worth, and shove off the parts of him that reminded him of his father.

"I just," he began. "I don't want to be useless." It was true, he didn't usually like throwing himself into the fray, as they say. But he didn't want to be a side-note, unworthy of recognition. One of his greatest fears was to be insignificant. He wanted to become more involved, but his fears held him back.

"Whatever you choose, I'll be behind you."

As his indecision rose to its peak, he also felt his underlying resolve grow. More and more he saw what he wanted to do, and as he did, his logical side tried harder to come up with reasons to just leave everything up to everyone else. He had to make the jump — take a leap of courage — and he wasn't sure whether or not if he was ready. In the end, what could he, Draco Malfoy, really do?

Time was running out. He was either going to dive into the vast unknown, or forever linger upon the shores of uncertainty.

He stood up suddenly and awkwardly muttered, "Well… thanks, for, uh… for coming and —"

"It's no problem," Hermione said neatly. "It's only natural you want someone to talk to. And besides… what are friends for?"

Draco stared at her. So that's what they were now. Friends. He never would have believed it just a few months ago, but that's what they had become. And to his surprise, it didn't bother him. That she was a Muggle-born, none of those things mattered to him anymore.

After all, she was the only one who had reached out to him.

Hermione wasn't really sure if what they had qualified as friendship. But he seemed so lonely and unhappy. If he accepted her offering, then that meant he had truly changed and she would have no problems considering Malfoy a friend.

"You know, if you ever want to talk to someone… I'm here."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

The boy that stood before her was so radically different from the one she had grown up with that she could barely recognize them as the same person. He didn't seem haughty, mean or arrogant; but solemn and vulnerable. Maybe he's always been this way, realized Hermione, and he just hid his insecurities behind a mask of cruelty. This was new territory for him, she knew, and she wanted to make sure that she didn't break what tenuous trust they had between each other.

When they got the bottom of the stairs, there was a moment of awkward silence before Draco said, "Don't get caught. We wouldn't want you to sully your spotless record," he teased.

Hermione smiled. "Good night, Malfoy," she responded in kind.

"Good night."

He turned down the hallway and walked past the stairs that led down to the dungeons. There was something else he needed to do, before he lost his resolve…

"Enter," said a voice behind the door. "Draco? It's rather late for you to up."

_Oops_. He had forgotten just how late it was. But Dumbledore didn't seem to be angry.

"I sense something is on your mind," was all he said next.

"I'll do it," said Draco. "I want to become a spy."

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 16:

Harry may finally get his answer to the mystery of the Half-Blood Prince, and tensions soar as the dynamic in his lessons with Snape begin to shift. Draco and Harry are now forced to work together. How will they handle it? Meanwhile, Ron has plans of his own for Hermione, but what will she think about it when she finds out? In other news, Dumbledore has planned something exciting for Harry, and also something for the rest of the school as well.

_Later that week, Harry was due for another lesson with Dumbledore. He wasn't sure what they would be doing this time, but was surprised when Dumbledore told him that they would be leaving the school._

_"Why, sir? What do we need to do?"_

_"You requested, did you not, to come with me when I discovered another Horcrux?"_

_"You found one?" Harry asked excitedly._

_"Perhaps so, but we cannot be sure. That is why you will be joining me today."_

"_I can come?" Harry knew Dumbledore had told him he would be able to go with him, but he found it hard to believe he would really be allowed to go._

"_Of course, Harry. I did agree to this, and I am a man of my word." Harry was finding it hard not to beam in anticipation. __This was it, he was really going. "Where are we going?" he asked._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] I don't think he really retaliated because of his father, but rather his pent up frustration with his situation. It would be easy to target Harry to take out his anger. Remember, during the beginning of the year he was still trying to convince himself that he wanted to be a Death Eater. He had to for his own sanity.

[2] I, for some reason, hated the Hepzibah Smith storyline. I wanted to completely change the Horcrux idea (how Riddle got them), but I really couldn't change it too much without messing everything up, so I inserted my own short memories instead. I was actually going to have Riddle work at the Ministry. But no one is supposed to know about Riddle, so he needed a decidedly unspectacular job at Borgin and Burkes in order to fall into obscurity.

[3] Don't ask me how he was somehow able to procure this memory. He's Dumbledore. I think we can assume that he'd find a way, somehow. If enough people are really all that interested, I'll give you my take on things. I do love to put a lot of detail in my story (contrary to what many people believe, I think details that aren't completely crucial to the overall plot can be okay to add at times, otherwise you could write your story in a paragraph), but there's no reason to overdo it.

[4] I have some confusion regarding McGonagall's birth date. Originally, it appeared she was 2 years older than Voldemort. Then Rowling changed that (possibly to get rid of the speculation and was intentionally to put her out of school with Riddle, in my opinion) To her being 9 years younger than him. But that's impossible if McGonagall is in or around her seventies by the time Harry arrives at Hogwarts as described. Rowling has stated that she immediately went to work after graduation for two years at the Ministry and then became a teacher. Age upon graduation is 17. In book five, she states that she has worked there for 39 years. That means: 17 + 2 + 39 = 58. She's 58, according to Rowling's numbers, in Harry's fifth year. But she's also consistently stated that McGonagall is in her seventies. The year, then, must be wrong; it's too young. So I decided to sort of split the difference (not quite) and make her about one to two years younger than Riddle, or one class year below Riddle. I think we can all agree that McGonagall should be in her seventies, not her late 50s or early 60s when Harry is at Hogwarts, no? Maybe Rowling changed it so that McGonagall would not have been at Hogwarts when the Chamber of Secrets was first opened? I have no idea.

[5] I'm assuming that they don't have set times for meals. Classes are scheduled differently for everyone, and I'd think it'd be more like college in this way. At a certain time frame, a meal is served. For example lunch would be served from say, 11:30 – 1:30, and students could go to the Great Hall and eat their meal anywhere in this time period.

[6] I'm not sure what other classes Malfoy takes, but I think it's perfectly probably that he would take either Ancient Runes or Arithmancy. Before the OWLs, Malfoy wouldn't have been in Hermione's class the previous 5 years unless it was doubled with Slytherins, so I'm assuming that wasn't the case. He's known to be a bright student, and so I would think that he'd probably have one or two more classes than Harry. Malfoy was pushed by his father to be the best, and was clearly upset to learn that our little miss know-it-all was over-performing his son. We know that he has Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions. He obviously did not continue with Care of Magical Creatures. I don't have to give you my reasons for not including Muggle Studies in his schedule. I'm not even sure whether or not History of Magic is taught beyond 5th year, but if it is, I doubt anyone would take it. Not even Hermione did if that's the case. I doubt he'd take Divination, and would refuse to take a class taught by a fraud (which, we must admit, she kind of is). His father would probably also agree with McGonagall that it is a soft subject, too. Other than that, I don't think he'd be an Herbology fan; too much hands-on dirty work. And as we know, Malfoy doesn't do House-elf work. Going with my star theme, I have to assume he takes Astrology. That leaves Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Out of the two, I think Arithmancy would appeal more to him. And as he didn't take Divination (I assume), the alternative would be Arithmancy. It's probably more useful (in that it most likely has more applications) than Ancient Runes, as well. Also, it worked out for the timing of my narrative. :) Anyways, I don't think anyone here would absolutely hate the idea of him taking Arithmancy. If you do, then, I suppose you could let me know if you want. But in case there was any confusion, I decided to spell it out here.

A/N:

By the way, if you didn't understand the disclaimer, it's from Potter Puppet Pals.

I know I had a lot of memories in this chapter, and I compensated by not going into depth with each one (honestly, it wasn't necessary). I started thinking about whether or not this was practical time-wise (for Harry and Dumbledore). But most of the memories were rather short, so I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility.

I thought about keeping the Ministry infiltration to retrieve the locket in this story, but went against it. It seemed like too much to put into the sequel (one of my complaints with DH was that it things were too crammed at the end). I figured fortune could shine down upon them just this once and bring them a Horcrux.

Signing off,

fanster


	17. Settling the Score

DISCLAIMER: Still don't own _Harry Potter_ or any of the series' contents. This chapter's all mine, so I would appreciate it if you didn't steal it. Thanks! :)

Not sure if I'm as happy with this chapter_… _Just not sure.

I'd like to think **Darth Nacho** for reviewing.

* * *

Chapter 16

Settling the Score

The crisp, chilly air made his face feel like it was freezing, nevertheless, gliding around on his broom brought Harry a sense of peace. That was, until he realized how practice was progressing. After Ron had performed brilliantly in their last game, he had again regressed into the unconfident and bumbling Ron Weasley. There was no way that there were going to beat Hufflepuff, whose offense was much improved, if Ron continued in his current form. Though Gryffindor possessed their own deadly offense, the Hufflepuff Keeper was decent and would certainly not allow more goals than Ron. Ginny on the other hand, was performing brilliantly. No one would ever say that Harry was giving her preferential treatment because she was his girlfriend and really mean it. She was easily the most talented Chaser, not only on their own team, but the entire school. Urquhart was certainly good, and Cho would give her a run for her money, but Ginny had improved so much that Harry had no reason to doubt that she was the best. As Ron continued to struggle, things became heated when he lashed out at Ginny in retaliation. Harry knew that Ron was just covering his insecurity and that Ginny could handle it, so he wasn't terribly upset with him, but he was concerned going into the next game. He was sure Ron wasn't particularly delighted at being upstaged by his little sister now that Fred and George were gone. The ploy with Felix Felicis had worked last time, but there was nothing else he could do. Ron knew that he had made those great saves, and if that didn't instill confidence in him, nothing would. Harry knew that Ron was a little downtrodden because Hermione still wasn't taking the bait at his hints of wanting to go out, but that alone wouldn't cause the catastrophe Harry was witnessing on the Quidditch pitch. Needless to say, the early morning practice was not what he would call a good start to the day.

He ended practice before things got worse. The game was next weekend.

Worrying about what he was going to do with Ron, he didn't immediately register when he stumbled into Draco Malfoy.

"Potter! Would you at least have the decency to listen to me when I am speaking to you? Or are your ears made of stone?"

"Malfoy? What — ?"

Malfoy looked around furtively before saying, "It seems I am going to be taking Occlumency lessons with you from now on. Dumbledore and Snape told me to let you know. You still have your lesson with Snape tomorrow as planned, except Snape wants you there an hour earlier. But next Tuesday you don't and we're having a joint session on Wednesday, after Herbology, and I'm to join you."

"Why are we doing them together?" asked Harry, feeling rather slighted that no one had informed him directly. And if truth be told, he wasn't sure if he wanted to have someone else there with him. Defeating Voldemort was his number one goal and he felt that if he didn't get enough one-on-one time with Snape, it might take away from that. The lessons themselves weren't particularly enjoyable, but he valued everything he learned from them [1].

"You're asking me? I don't know, I have no idea," replied Malfoy, seeming agitated with all of the questions.

"Okay, okay," said Harry, holding up his hands in defense to placate Malfoy. "You talked to them, so I just wondered."

"Well, now you know. Just make sure you show up."

Like he was going to miss their lesson, Harry thought irritably. He didn't appreciate the tone Malfoy was taking with him, either. Still…

"Malfoy, wait." Harry held out his arm to stop Malfoy from leaving.

"What?" Malfoy replied impatiently, turning around and looking irate. "Believe it or not, I've got better things to do than sit here and chat with you."

Harry took a calming breath so as not to respond unkindly and then said what he had been intending to say all along. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to hurt you. I hadn't used that spell before, and I didn't know what it did. I didn't plan on doing that. If I had known what the spell did, I wouldn't have used it. Honestly, I wouldn't have." He didn't look down, he would own up to faults.

Malfoy looked a bit surprised at first but otherwise remained expressionless. After what seemed like a long time to Harry he gave a small nod of his head, then turned around and walked away.

Harry still didn't completely trust him, but he had owed Malfoy that much. It wasn't so much that he thought Malfoy was truly loyal to the Death Eaters, but Harry was sure that he would dessert them if it suited him well. If there was an opportunity to save his own skin, Harry was certain that Malfoy would take it. He still believed that Malfoy only thought of himself, and that was one of the main reasons he turned to their side.

At breakfast, Harry got a letter from someone he did not expect. He, of course, was not expecting any letters at all, but if he was, he wouldn't have guessed it would come from —

"My mum! Why is my _mum_ sending you letters?" Ron asked.

"I don't know, Ron. If I did know then there would be no reason for her to send one to me. And _letter_, not _letters_ as in plural. This is the first one I've gotten."

"Yeah, yeah. So what's it about? And why didn't she write me or Ginny?"

"I don't know, Ron," repeated Harry, beginning to lose his patience. "If you'd let me read it and stop pestering me then I can find out and tell you."

Looking slightly abashed, Ron quieted down.

But while opening the letter it was with irritation that Harry had to shrug off his friend who was currently trying to read the contents of the letter, quite literally, over his shoulder.

"Would you cut it out, Ron?"

"Come on, mate. Just read it."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. _I would, except your making it much more difficult than it should be_, he thought. Harry read the first couple of lines and promptly slid the piece of parchment back into its envelope and stuffed it in his pocket.

"What? Why did you — what'd it say?" asked Ron impatiently.

"Not here," muttered Harry.

"Oh, so now my mum's sending you _secret_ letters?"

"Later." Harry's tone booked no room for argument.

"But —"

"Ron, hush now," interjected Ginny. Harry gave her an appreciative glance.

Back in the common room, the four hastened to find a secluded corner and unravel this most unexpected mystery.

"So _now_ can you tell us why my mum's sending — ?"

"Sorry, I forgot to tell you, we're having a secret affair," Harry deadpanned. "Seriously, Ron, get a grip." He was getting tired of Ron's petty antics; it wasn't his fault that she had sent him a letter, and he was sure she had sent it to him for good reason.

Ron froze, slack-jawed and gobsmacked, and while Ginny was at first taken aback by Harry's brazen sarcasm, she soon joined in snorting along with Hermione.

"Don't speak about my mother like that!"

"Ron, I was just kidding. Obviously."

"I know that! I just don't want the mental image of… well…"

"There are seven of you. Where do you think you all came from?"

Ginny and Hermione were now giggling uncontrollably.

"Harry, ugh! Stop that!" exclaimed a grimacing Ron.

"I'm just saying," Harry said with a small smile, knowing that he was causing his friend some minor distress.

It was almost with more of a desire to placate an increasingly annoying Ron Weasley rather than to sate his own growing curiosity that Harry finally opened the letter. It read:

_Dear Harry,_

_This is Mrs. Weasley. Everyone is well I trust? I expect that you'll be receiving this letter in the Great Hall at breakfast, and I think it's probably best that you find somewhere more private to read it without all of the prying eyes around._

_I know you're probably wondering why I am writing you _("Too true," voiced Ron at this point, to which everyone else rolled their eyes)._ I just wanted to extend a more formal invitation to Bill and Fleur's wedding this summer which is to be held on August 1. I wanted it to be a surprise for Ron and Ginny and tell them in person. You'll be more than welcome to our home all summer, as you know. And by the way, you should let your new friend know that everything's arrived here safely as planned, and they needn't worry about a thing._

_Send Ron and Ginny my love,_

_Molly Weasley_

"That's it?" said Ron. "You already know about their wedding."

"And we've known the date for a while now," added Ginny.

"We have?"

Ginny ignored Ron and said, "It doesn't make any sense."

"That's because it's not really about the wedding," Harry elucidated.

"What?" said Ron. "So now you and my mum have some secret code?"

"If what you say is true, then this obviously wasn't about that. And why else would she really not want other people reading? It's got to be Order business. Also, that last line doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but I happen to know what she's talking about."

"What?" asked Ron again.

Harry looked around and when he was satisfied no one else was listing he dropped his voice low and said, "Narcissa. She's made it to Grimmauld Place."

Hermione nodded her head; she had probably already figured it out, too, thought Harry.

"I still can't believe your letting those creeps stay with you, Harry."

Hermione gave him a severe stare but said nothing, so it went relatively unnoticed.

"They needed a place to stay, and I had a safe place. There's nothing much to it," said Harry shortly. He wondered how things were going with Narcissa. Hopefully she was grateful enough that she wasn't causing any trouble with the Weasley's, who were staying there for the time being to help her, but also to monitor her.

Ron was about to say something else, but was interrupted by the sudden commotion inside the common room. There was a multitude of people gathered around the notice board. The group went over to see what all the ruckus was about. Ron and Harry (he had grown quite a bit over the summer) craned over the top of the other students to see what was causing all of the excitement [2].

They soon found out when they read to following message aloud to Hermione and Ginny:

_Dueling sessions will take place in the Great Hall for all interested N.E.W.T. students. The first of three tutorials will begin at 8 o'clock on Friday evening on the 27__th__ of February, and will be conducted by Headmaster Dumbledore. If you plan to attend, please be sure to sign up before the 21__st__. The sign-up sheet will be available in the Great Hall during mealtimes._

"Dueling lessons!" exclaimed Ron, excited. "From Dumbledore! That oughta be awesome. I mean, his duels are the stuff of legends! Not that the DA wasn't great, Harry." Harry shook his head, wholeheartedly agreeing. It would indeed be an excellent opportunity to learn from one of the best duelists alive. Harry had seen what Dumbledore was capable of last year in the Ministry. "And what that Lockhart fellow did doesn't really count," Ron was continuing.

"But that's not fair!" argued Ginny. "I'm perfectly capable! I'm just as good as the people in your year; better than most of them."

"Yeah, but most people in your year didn't have extra practice," Harry pointed out. Ginny gave him a playful smile. "I guess not," she said.

"And Dumbledore can't give preferential treatment to only those were in the DA," said Hermione.

"Besides," added Ron, "Dumbledore is probably going to teach stuff too advanced for you guys."

"Hey, I could beat you in a duel anytime," said Ginny.

"Need I remind you that I took down a troll in my first year?"

"You didn't do it by yourself, and Harry's already told me it was mostly luck."

Ron rounded on Harry as if he had just committed some type of betrayal of a brotherly pact.

"What?" Harry said."It's true."

"Excuse me," said Ron, "but I performed the levitation charm while you were sticking your wand up its nose."

"That was an accident and we were still very lucky to get away unscathed, don't you agree? How did McGonagall put it? 'Sheer dumb luck?'"

Ron gave a noncommittal grunt and shrug while Hermione laughed.

Ginny sighed. "I'm incredibly jealous of you guys."

"You should be," said Ron.

Ginny smacked Ron in the head, which made Harry laugh, although he had to agree with Ron on this one (albeit silently, he had no desire to be beaten as well).

Later in the week, Harry was going to the meeting he was dreading. It would be the first time besides during class that he would face Snape since his attack on Malfoy. He was sure that the learning activities today would be limited, and that Snape would use this time to try and ascertain exactly where Harry had discovered the _Sectumsempra_ spell.

He was right.

"Far too transparent, Potter. A good Occlumens will convince the attacker that you are applying no resistance. Your technique is pitifully primitive. You aren't even trying to use the advanced methods I have taught you."

"I'm keeping you out, aren't I?" asked Harry, short-tempered from the persistent attacks on his subconscious. "That's what I'm supposed to do, according to you. What should it matter how I do it if there's nothing you can do about it?"

Snape gave him a nasty scowl. "If you're referring to the Dark Lord, he will torture you. I may refrain from using the Cruciatus curse, but I assure you, _he_ will not. Again!" he barked.

But Harry wasn't going to give up without a fight. He knew exactly what Snape was trying to do, and Harry wasn't going to let him. This was the most violent mental assault yet, but no matter what, he wasn't going to allow Snape to see anything having to do with the Prince. Snape's frustration was almost palpable, and he was aggravated more so by the fact that, despite his best efforts, he still couldn't break through, no matter how worn out Harry was. He had trained him well. Ironically, it was through Snape's own efforts to teach him Occlumency that Harry was keeping Snape out. _Oh, how things have changed_, thought Harry. _Gone are the days when you could do whatever you wanted with my mind_. Still, he wanted nothing more than for this interrogation to end.

Snape fought mercilessly for dominance over Harry's mind, but Harry obstinately refused. They battled intensely, for how long, Harry wasn't sure. Finally, Snape withdrew and both were left panting from the exertion.

Snape was through with playing this game; he had had enough. "What are you hiding?" he demanded.

"Hiding? Nothing. I'm just doing what you taught me," Harry replied stubbornly. Harry could see that Snape was growing ever more irritated. Indeed, he hadn't seen Snape this agitated in quite some time.

"Enough of this, Potter. You will tell me where you learned that spell."

"I've already told you, I don't remember."

"Lies. Then why are you trying to keep it from me?"

"Keep what from you?"

"Don't play stupid with me. You know exactly what you puerile, adolescent boy!"

The word triggered something from Harry's memory.

"You!"

Snape raised his brow, taken aback by Harry's sudden change of tone.

"Me." It was both a statement and a question.

"You're the Half-Blood Prince!"

Snape gave no reaction other than to remain resolutely impassive. But that told Harry everything; not only because he didn't deny it, but he showed no signs of any emotion — not confusion, not sarcasm, nor disdain… nothing. Harry had learned to read Snape in a way most others could not. The signals of what Snape was feeling were there… when he had nothing to hide. Otherwise, Harry noticed that Snape only became exceedingly stoic and closed-off (at least more than usual) when he didn't want anyone to know what he was thinking. And so when Snape hid behind his emotionless mask, Harry got his answer.

"You are! You are the Half-Blood Prince, I know you are!"

And as he said it, he knew it was true. He thought about all the missing pieces, but they had been there all along: the familiar handwriting, how Snape's mind immediately jumped to his Potions book after he accidentally attacked Malfoy, the reason that Snapes' mom looked familiar (not only did Snape bear a lot of resemblance to his mother, but Harry had actually seen the older version of her in Snape's memories last year when Harry had used the shield charm in their disastrous Occlumency lessons)… And wasn't the fact that a bezoar would 'save you from most poisons' one of the first things that Snape had ever taught him?

Snape opened his mouth and Harry did something that he normally didn't and interrupted him, saying, "There's no use in you telling me that you aren't. I know you are." If not, Snape would have already issued a searing insult on Harry's sanity with his sharp tongue.

"And how have you come to that conclusion?"

"Despite what you think, I am not an idiot," said Harry a bit more tetchily this time. Snape merely raised an eyebrow. Harry took Snape's lack of denial as an admission.

"I suppose you won't let me keep the book," Harry said. "Why didn't you keep it?"

"I kept it in the storeroom and mistakenly left it behind. But it was there, apparently a spare book for students' use, and you happened to be the one to find it."

So, Harry thought, it was possible for Snape to make mistakes. He crossed 'disguised robot/machine' off of his imaginary list of explanations for what Harry felt were inhuman capabilities possessed by his ill-tempered professor. Cyborg, however, was still in play. He'd have to update Ron (they had been trying for years to find a weakness in Snape with which to coerce him into giving them better grades; each plot became more elaborate and outrageously impractical. Harry was never one-hundred percent sure whether or not the list was a joke). "Actually," said Harry, "Slughorn gave it to me, but he didn't know there was any writing on it or anything. Does this mean you'll let me keep it?" Harry asked hopefully, seeing as Snape had not immediately said no.

"Surprisingly, you are doing nothing wrong this time, Potter."

"But don't you think it's kind of like cheating?" Harry could hardly believe that this was happening.

"Would you like me to confiscate your Potions book?"

"No," he said hurriedly.

"Then, what is the matter?"

"I'm just surprised, is all."

"It does give you an advantage over the rest of your class, but there is nothing from stopping them to seek additional resources in the library, or to ask Professor Slughorn. It is not my place to do such things, as it is not my class any longer and it is really not my concern how well you are or are not doing. The work may not be your own, but are the rest of your classmates not simply producing the work of another? You are not in violation the rules, you simply got lucky. Also," added Snape, "I know that if I don't allow you to keep the book, you will simply pester me with potions questions. One lesson per week in addition to Defense class is quite enough, I must say."

"Then why did you want to know so badly?" asked Harry.

"I was sure you had the book; I simply wanted to confirm my suspicions. I never intended to tell that it was mine, but you've obviously figured it out."

"Don't you want it back?"

"No, I know everything in that book by memory; I have made the potions so many times."

Something hit Harry.

"You! You wrote that spell!" he cried in disbelief. "Who were you going to use it on? My father?" Harry asked, becoming angry.

"I did not create the spell with your father specifically in mind," he said after a moment's hesitation.

It did not fail to reach Harry that Snape had not really answered the question, which told him everything he needed to know.

"That is another reason I wanted to know if you had the book. I wanted to make sure that you didn't learn that spell elsewhere… I am not proud of what I did when I was young," said Snape, who was disinclined to have Potter continue to look at him like he was some type of monster.

However, when Potter resumed his angered expression, something struck a nerve within Severus. "And incidentally, it is none of your concern what I did or did not do as a kid. Now, if that is all, our lesson is over for today."

At lunchtime, it was all Harry could do not to cringe when Hermione asked, "What did Snape say about you and Malfoy taking lessons together?"

"Hmm. Oh, I forgot to ask him about that." replied Harry in between bites of his beef and vegetable soup.

"You forgot? But you really seemed curious about that."

"I suppose I just got side-tracked from the question. The lesson was pretty… intense today." Harry chose not to elaborate any further. He had not told his friends that Snape was the Half-Blood Prince. He wasn't sure how they'd react, in fact, he wasn't sure how he himself felt about it. But he didn't want them knowing that the person he had been getting all of his advice from — that the anonymous person he had held in such high regard — was really Snape.

. *** .

It was finally Friday, and what appeared to be nearly all of the sixth and seventh year students were flooding into the Great Hall. Harry, Ron and Hermione tried to dissect their way through the pandemonium to find a decent spot near the front.

All of the tables had been cleared away, much like they had during Apparition lessons only this time, there were no meddlesome hoops to deal with. Dumbledore was standing at the front where the teachers' table usually situated, which created a sort of stage. Once everyone was assembled, Dumbledore spread his arms out wide; quiet settled upon the gathering instantly.

"Welcome!" he said, smiling down upon them all. "Welcome to our first of three dueling sessions. I am glad that so many of you have come. I have decided to hold these lessons to help hone your skills in both defensive and offensive spell-casting, which I am sure many of you are eager to learn. I would, however, advise you against using anything you learn here for your own entertainment in the event that one of your teachers decides to reward your enthusiasm accordingly with detention," he said in a non-threatening voice. Many of the students laughed. "Now, on a more serious note, I am sure that you all have guessed the true purpose of this assembly. War marches ever on — inexorably, unforgivingly. Many of you have experienced this and understand it far too intimately." The congregation grew still and deathly quiet. "Lord Voldemort has declared war against all those who stand for what is right: freedom, courage, and friendship. Danger ever lurks on our doorstep. I know that some may argue that you are children, who are not to be concerned about the troubles of war. But the truth is that war is here, regardless of how much we strive to protect you and keep you out of harm's way — which, of course, we certainly try our best to do. Many say you are too young to become involved in such unpleasant affairs. Yet I believe it is folly not to forewarn you of the very real dangers that exist beyond these walls. It would be incredibly short-sighted not to prepare you — particularly when many of you will be leaving this school for what many call the 'real world.' I wish that I could guarantee to you all that every one of you will survive this time of conflict… but, unfortunately, I cannot." If at all possible, the room became even more silent. "I may not be successful," Dumbledore continued, "and however I may wish that I could, I know I have not the power to do so. You will all soon come of age, for those of you who have not already done so. I do not have the power to make your decisions for you; you will all choose your own path. But I hope that in the future, something you take away from these lessons will help you, wherever that path may lead you. And so," said the Headmaster clasping his hands, "with that, let us begin."

Dumbledore moved to the front of the stage now, pulling out his wand and shaking back the long sleeves of his star-spangled, vivid purple robes. "First, we will briefly go over the basics of combat. Then, once we have done that, I will show you some more advanced defense techniques. All good duelists know that success in battle is founded upon sound defensive tactics. To demonstrate this, I have brought along two accomplices: Professor Flitwick, who was a fine dueling champion in his younger years, and your very own Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Snape, who is well-versed in the art of dueling. Between the three of us, we have a vast knowledge of dueling situations, which we hope to pass on to your generation."

The two professors who seemed to materialize out of nowhere (they really didn't, they had come from the door; everyone was too intent on being captivated by Dumbledore) went to stand with Dumbledore, who continued to speak. "Now, the first thing you need to know about a duel is the purpose of said duel. It is rather straightforward, can anyone tell me? Yes, Mister Corner?"

"To beat the other person?" suggested Michael. Some people in the crowd snickered.

"Yes, indeed!" replied Dumbledore in slight amusement, wiping off the self-satisfied smiles off of some faces. "The goal of a duel is, quite simply, to defeat your opponent. Of course, the real secret lies in not if you beat them, but _how_. Contrary to what many people believe, duels are not won with brute force, blinding speed, or an inordinate amount of magical talent and/or luck, although each of these will certainly help to varying degrees. It does not even necessarily come down to which wizard or witch has the most extensive knowledge of magic. Skill, practice, bravery… none of these qualities, while valuable, will guarantee a victory. The most important thing is to understand your opponent. What is your opponent's motive? What does he or she want? And what lengths will they go to obtain it? Once you can begin to understand the mindset of the person you are dueling, you can better anticipate his or her every move. Once you know the answers to these questions, you can determine how that person will act and behave in battle. In other words, that person's actions will be closely tied to their mental state. You will better be able to predict the opposition's level of aggression. Is he or she protecting something? Or are they after something? What are the stakes, and what are the potential consequences of failure? You can beat even the most skilled duelist if you really understand what is in their heart and mind."

Harry wasn't sure what to expect from this session, but it wasn't exactly this. He, like everyone else in the room, was riveted by what Dumbledore was saying, hanging on to his every word.

"And now… for a more practical demonstration…"

Dumbledore performed some basic charms to all in attendance, then Snape and Flitwick gave a demonstration duel. The magic on display was incredible. Although Harry was sure everyone, himself included, was eager to see Dumbledore perform more magic and duel, Snape and Flitwick played their respective parts well, as evidenced by the many "oohs" and "aahs" of the crowd. The spells were cast at lightning speed and without hesitation. For how old Flitwick looked, it certainly did not manifest in the duel. He was both dexterous and swift, and his adroitness was apparent in his spell-casting. Meanwhile Snape was his usual self, the epitome of grace, his every move seemingly effortless. The total result seemed almost more like an intricate and sophisticated dance rather than a duel. Magic the likes of which Harry knew nobody in the audience had ever before witnessed was on full display. It was hard to ascertain if either of the duelists had the upper-hand. But Harry supposed that neither desired to hurt the other — it was for educational purposes — so he was not surprised that no one flew across the room Lockhart-style. After a while, Dumbledore signaled for the duel to come to an end, which elicited a scattering of disappointed groans. But most of the students applauded the skillful presentation.

"Now," continued Dumbledore, "since this is the first meeting, I would like for everyone to use verbal magic. It will help you learn and for those of you who still have not mastered nonverbal magic, I highly suggest you strive to do so, as by our next lesson, I would like for all of you to cast solely nonverbal spells. Those who can will have a tremendous advantage. But for now, try and replicate and incorporate some of the spells we have just taught you. Partner up, please, with both people you know, and people you with whom you are not well acquainted with. Find a partner, and then pair with another duo from a different House. We will tell you when to switch. Note the differences between dueling a well-known friend, and a less familiar classmate. I will only warn you once: use no spells that are intended to cause harm to another. Use only either defensive spells, or nonaggressive offensive spells. Anyone who is caught using injurious spells will be asked to leave immediately and will not return for the duration of this series of courses."

Harry paired up with Hermione, and Ron went to pair with Neville, seeming a bit disagreeable with the matchup. But in Harry's mind, he knew that he and Hermione were closer in skill level. He didn't tell this to Ron. Somehow he and Hermione ended up being grouped with Zacharias Smith and his partner and fellow Hufflepuff, George Stebbins. Stebbins seemed nice enough, if not a bit on the dull side, Smith however…

"So, let's see how good you really are," he said to Harry arrogantly. Harry chose to ignore this, while Hermione gave Smith a nasty glare. Ron, (who never liked Smith) was standing nearby and happened to hear. "Hey, listen you little twerp," he said. "Harry's fought Death Eaters and battled You-Know-Who and got the better of them. What have you done? You better hope he doesn't just kick your little —"

"And now!" said Dumbledore. "Let us begin! Take turns between pairs so that you can also observe and learn. Learn not only from your mistakes, but others'. This should be a collective effort, so help all of your group mates. I and your professors will move amongst you and assist you, where needed. Firstly, you should all spread out and give yourselves ample room. There we go. That's it. Decide who will go first. On the count of three, now. And remember, innocuous spells only… One, two, three… Begin!"

First up, Harry faced Stebbins, and Harry found that he had trouble in looking as if he wasn't trying to humiliate the poor kid. He wasn't even close to the level of any of the students that had been in the DA. They rotated what seemed about every fifteen minutes. Harry was pleased to find out that he had no trouble whatsoever facing Smith. A fact not lost on Smith, who curled his lip in distaste.

There was an irritating, high-pitched whistle. It seemed that somehow, Pansy Parkinson's curse had struck one of the floating candles illuminating the room. The candle flew toward Hannah Abbott's head, but she wasn't looking in that direction. Seamus, who was standing nearby saw just in time to pluck the candle right out of the air. Intrigued, this gave Harry the beginnings of an idea, but then Dumbledore called for a switch before he could think it through further.

Every so often, Dumbledore would stop and show an example to the whole gathering, and elaborate on what should be done in the given situation. Whenever this happened Harry listened with rapt attention. Next up, Harry was to face Hermione. Both readied themselves before the signal was given. "Begin!"

"Impedimenta!" Harry cried, but Hermione blocked it and was now sending a spell of her own.

"Petrificus totalus!" she exclaimed.

"Protego!"

It went on for some time like that. Neither was able to gain the upper-hand and blocked each other's spells time and time again. It was time to change tactics, thought Harry. But before he could formulate a plan, Hermione was already sending another spell his way. "Ventus!" she said. _It's hard to think and duel at the same time_, he thought.

He hadn't seen this spell before, but it looked like a whirling wind was whipping towards him.

"Murus!" he shouted, using one of the defensive spells that Dumbledore had shown them earlier. The gale buffeted away as if met by an invisible wall.

Next, Hermione fired away two rapid curses. He didn't catch the first one amidst all the noise, but was able to just dodge it. The second one, however, he could not. "Incarcerous!" Hermione had bound his legs with rope, before she could take advantage he said, "Diffindo!" to break the rope and was able to shield the oncoming spell.

"Locomotor mortis!" said Hermoine.

Harry sidestepped the curse and used the moment to instead use an offensive spell. "Obscuro!"

Hermione, who had been expecting him to use another defensive spell didn't react in time and was blindfolded as per Harry's spell.

She wiped out with her wand blindly. "Supplanto!"

Harry was hit with a trip jinx, but Hermione still hadn't removed the blindfold. _A mistake I can take advantage of_, he thought.

She was reaching to undo the blindfold… He rolled onto his feet and called, "Steleus!"

She sneezed, which distracted her enough to allow Harry to incant another spell. But it missed as Hermione could still hear his spell, and she deflected it with one of her own. The blindfold was now gone.

"Flipendo!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Harry was knocked backward a bit off balance, but retained his footing. Hermione, meanwhile, had been separated from her wand. It flew towards Harry. She smiled. "That was a good duel, Harry. Good job, you won."

He smiled, too. "Not by much," he answered truthfully.

"I expect it will be even better once we're allowed to use nonverbal spells." Harry's smile widened a fraction. He couldn't wait until they really got into things.

Dumbledore clapped twice for attention. "Good. Good job everyone. Thank you all for coming. Remember what you have learned tonight for the next lesson, and practice, practice with your friends when you can. I know most of you will not opt to seek staff supervision, but I trust you are all mature enough to handle this matter responsibly. Anyone who intentionally causes harm to a fellow student will be severely punished. But learn what you can from each other and refine the areas in which you need to improve. In the meantime," said Dumbledore, "a good night to you all."

"Professor Dumbledore, sir?" asked Michael Corner.

Dumbledore turned around. "Yes, Mr. Corner?"

"What if you're facing more than one person?"

Dumbledore smiled. "An excellent and very astute question. However, I am afraid that is something for a future lesson."

He left leaving the rest of the assembly chattering excitedly, already in keen anticipation for their next session.

. *** .

It was the weekend, and Harry and Ginny strolled along the castle grounds. He tenderly brushed the back of the hand he was holding with his thumb. This caused her to look up at him and smile softly. He returned the smile. Walking to a more private and closed off section of trees surrounding the lake, they sat together against a giant oak tree in companionable silence. He placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead. With Ginny curled up against him, in that moment, he felt as if nothing could go wrong. Unfortunately, he knew that the world in which he existed was swirling with chaos and affliction. Voldemort threatened to take moments like these away from everyone. He vowed to do all he could to put this to an end, but for now, he simply enjoyed his special time with Ginny.

Later on that day, he was walking through a nearly empty corridor when he ran in Luna.

"Hi, Harry," she said.

"Hey, Luna. Did you ever find your locket?"

"Yes, Dobby returned it to me," she said, lifting the necklace from under her collar to show him. "He is such a nice House-Elf."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, he sure is."

"You seem better, Harry. I'm glad."

"Better?" he asked, cocking his head. "How so?"

"Well, before you seemed troubled and… not quite right. But you seem much happier now."

For as whimsical as Luna seemed, she was highly observant and remarkably perceptive. He felt he was finally getting over the grieving process of Sirius' death and coming to peace with his part in it.

"I do feel better. I have a lot to be happy about," he said simply. And it was true. Indeed, he did have a lot to be happy about. He had his friends, he had his health, he could now keep Voldemort out of his mind… he had Ginny…

"That's nice, Harry."

He felt a little guilty. Ginny was one of Luna's only friends, and since she was spending almost all of her spare time with him, Luna must be even more alone than she usually was.

"Well, I'll see you later, Harry." He was a little taken aback at the sudden farewell.

"See ya," Harry replied helplessly.

He was on his way to the library. He hadn't seen Hermione much the last couple of days and when he did, she was uncharacteristically quiet. He figured the library was as good a place to look as anywhere. Her absence was also not missed by Ron either, who was still hell-bent on asking her out.

He walked into the library, but did not see anyone in sight. There was nobody to be seen, not even the odd Ravenclaw studying away, but then again, it was the weekend after all. Harry continued to the back sections to make sure he wouldn't miss her. He heard hushed voices coming from the back corner. Making his way through the rows of books, he arrived to find Hermione and Malfoy sitting at one of the tables; they looked to be in intense discussion. As quiet as it was in the library, Harry's soft footsteps immediately alerted them to his presence.

"Harry!" Hermione said in surprise.

"Hi, Hermione," said Harry warily, looking at Malfoy. "I haven't seen you in the common room or anything much lately. I was just wondering if you were doing alright."

"I'm fine, Harry," she said a little wearily.

Harry wasn't entirely convinced, but Malfoy was present, so he let it rest for the time being. After a period of uncomfortable silence, Harry finally gave up and simply said, "Well, I'll see you later, Hermione."

"See you, Harry."

He knew that something was going on, he just wasn't sure what it was. Later that night after dinner, he accosted her about it. "Hermione, what's going on between you and Malfoy?"

The fire crackled in the background as Hermione considered Harry's question carefully. There were doing homework, and Ron decided not to join in (he was a procrastinator, Hermione had accused), so Harry took advantage of this time to question her.

"How do you mean?" Hermione eventually answered.

"Come on, Hermione, you know what I'm talking about. I mean, what was that in the library today? Don't tell me you're all buddy-buddy now."

Hermione looked around the common room, making sure that no one could overhear their conversation. "Harry, he has no one to talk to. Everyone in Slytherin expects him to be a Death Eater. He really has no real friends. I never realized how… I just feel so bad for him. He's worried about his mother, too… and he's just made a big decision."

"He has, but that isn't your problem, Hermione. You don't have to spend all of your time with him. Remember, people can't know what's happened. I understand he feels isolated, but that's better than being caught. If someone else had seen you two together today…"

"We just would've acted as if he was bothering me or something. That isn't out of the question, is it? And it hasn't been _all_ of my time, Harry," argued Hermione. She glanced around the room once more and leaned in towards Harry, saying "And I'm not just talking about his decision to leave the Death Eaters. Harry… he's decided to become a spy… like Snape."

Harry's eyebrows shot into his forehead. "Really?" was all he could say.

"Yes, really," said Hermione. "And I must admit… I'm a little worried."

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm sure Snape'll make sure nothing happens to him."

"I thought you didn't trust Snape."

"I…" Harry hesitated. "I think he's on our side. But I just can't be one hundred percent sure. Either way, I still think he would help Malfoy."

Hermione just nodded quietly. _So he became a spy_, Harry thought to himself. He never would have believed it. It was not something he expected from Malfoy. Maybe he had changed after all; perhaps Harry wasn't giving him enough credit. Well, only time would tell. That must be one of the reasons Snape was having them take Occlumency sessions together.

When Wednesday arrived, Harry waited outside the greenhouses for Malfoy, but tried not to be obvious about it, as people couldn't find out about Malfoy's situation.

When sure that no one else was around, Malfoy joined him. "Alright, let's get this over with, Potter." He then took off at a quick pace towards the castle. Harry's boots crunched over the snow as he rushed to follow him. The weather was warming and the snow was beginning to melt, but there was still a thick layer of white powder all across the castle grounds.

Once Harry caught up with the taller boy, he said, "Hey, I don't know what's going on between you and Hermione, but you'd better not be up to something funny."

Draco looked at Harry over his shoulder in disdain and said, "And what is it you think I'm 'up to' exactly? Don't get your wand in a knot, Potter, I'm not planning anything. Besides, Granger's a big girl. She can take care of herself. She doesn't need constant monitoring from babysitters every waking moment… unlike… some people."

It was an obvious shot at Harry, and Harry knew it. Well, he didn't have to take this type of ridicule quietly…

_Plop!_

Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks. "You did _not_ just do that, Potter." He turned around angrily, brushing the snow out of his hair.

Harry was running at him with another snowball in hand. Draco wordlessly raised his wand and Harry was met with a cascading wall of snow. Sputtering and scrambling out of the mound of snow, an indignant Harry shouted, "Hey, that wasn't fair!"

Malfoy scoffed. "We're wizards, Potter… but if that's how you want to play. I'm sure you know that's the only way you have any chance." He reached down and threw a snowball at Harry. His first one missed, but the second one found its mark. They kept at it until their fingers were numb. Then Harry flung one that hit Malfoy square in the face. Annoyed, Draco aimed his wand at Harry once again, but this time, Harry was ready. Harry still got hit with quite a bit of snow, but some of it reflected off of his shield charm straight at Malfoy. Malfoy blinked in surprise, looking very much like a skinny version of Santa Clause. Harry started laughing, he was sure he didn't look much different. If someone had told him just a few days ago he'd be having a relatively friendly snowball fight with Malfoy… When Harry continued to laugh, Malfoy just shook his head and charmed himself dry. He straightened his uniform and stood tall as if at least one of them had to remain dignified. "You are so weird, Potter."

"You should see your face, right now," said an amused Harry.

"Look who's talking, I think I almost mistook you for Dumbledore."

"Nah," said Harry, who opted to wait until they were at the castle entrance to dry himself. "Dumbledore's too tall."

Malfoy shrugged. "True." He looked over at Harry and brushed the last of the snow off of his robes. "Listen, Potter. I know you don't trust me, but I'm not harassing Granger or anything."

"I believe you. I just… don't do anything to… upset her. She's been very good to you," Harry admonished.

"There's no need for the lecture, Potter," snapped Malfoy, annoyed.

"Alright," Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'll quit bothering you about it then."

"Wow, thanks a lot, it means so much to me," he said sarcastically.

Harry heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Malfoy clutching his chest where Harry knew the cuts were still healing.

"There's no use looking at me like that, Potter," Malfoy said sharply. "Spare me your pity. I'm fine."

When Harry didn't answer, Malfoy stopped to address him. "Look, I accidentally hurt your friends… Let's call it even."

Harry was about to nod his approval when Malfoy said, "Wait." The blond boy knelt down and scooped up some snow, then proceeded to throw it in Harry's general direction. Harry received a splash of snow to his chest and face.

"Now, we're even, Potter."

"Alright, Malfoy," Harry conceded, brushing the snow off of his face. "If you say so."

They walked in silence towards the castle for a few moments, and then Malfoy cast a side-long glance at Harry. "My mother, you said she's doing alright?"

Harry could tell from Malfoy's careful tone that he was trying to be casual about it; but he was obviously very worried about her.

"Yes, she's doing fine."

Malfoy sighed in relief before catching himself and nodded quietly.

"So, how are the lessons with Snape?" he asked.

"He's demanding… but I learn a lot. I've gone from being useless at Occlumency, to now being able to keep anyone out of my mind if I need to."

"Well, that's the easy part. It's keeping them from figuring out that you're Occluding that's the hard part," said Draco.

"Well, yes," admitted Harry.

"And Legilimency?" asked Draco.

Harry wasn't sure if he heard a tone of accusation or not, but answered, "Yes, but I've only learned the basics."

Malfoy nodded again. They said nothing more on their way down to Snape's office, but through unspoken consent, Harry felt as if they had both reached some kind of truce.

And so it was with mild surprise that Snape turned to address Harry and Draco (in other words, the two were not at each other's throats or glaring furiously at one another as he expected).

"I'm sure you are both wondering the purpose of having you practice Occlumency together. It is my belief that learning beside one another can be a very useful tool. You both will be able to share what works best for you, and it gives you the very unique ability to witness alternative methods that are distinct from your own. As well as this, practicing with other individuals will also be to your benefit. As you become more familiar with me, it is good to defend yourselves against a different style of attack. It is good for you both to experience a variety of Legilimency methods. However, personalized lessons tailored to your own needs are also important. That is why we will meet once a week, but you will alternate between individual lessons, and partnered lessons. Potter, we will still meet at your usual time on Tuesday. I expect to see you here, Draco, at 8 o'clock on Wednesdays. Next week, we will go back to separate sessions. The week after that, you will skip those and have a dual lesson, and so on… I sincerely hope you can do the math and remember which lesson we're having. If not, then there is really no point in me teaching someone so dreadfully obtuse."

The rest of the lesson went surprisingly well for Harry. He thought that having Malfoy there would be a major distraction, but there were no issues and Harry actually found that Snape wasn't wrong in saying that having someone else there could be helpful. And he was still getting his lesson without Malfoy there biweekly. Maybe learning Occlumency with Malfoy wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Really? You know how crazy that sounds, Harry?" said Ron when Harry expressed this thought.

"Ron," chastised Hermione, "Harry's keeping an open mind, maybe you ought to, as well."

"Hermione," said Ron abruptly.

"Yes?" asked Hermione cautiously.

"Will you go out with me?" asked Ron. Harry choked on the water he was drinking. Ron looked at him in confusion but then immediately turned his attention back towards Hermione and waited expectantly.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she said. Harry wasn't dense; he was sure she had heard exactly what Ron had just said. Perhaps she hoped Ron would get the hint and give up. If that was the case, then she was mistaken.

"A date," he said, perfectly clear. (Harry was impressed with his composure; however, Ron's ears were as red as Harry had ever seen them, it was as if he could almost feel the heat radiating off of them from here). "I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me on Valentine's Day. This Saturday."

"Oh, um…" Ron looked like a puppy waiting in eager anticipation for Hermione's answer, about to burst. "Y-yeah. Sure, Ron… Sounds great."

Harry couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable Hermione seemed, or how forced her smile looked. Ron noticed none of these things, and grinned like an undiscovered thief. Harry had a bad feeling about this, and was sure it was not going to end well. True, he had always seen this coming, but he wasn't getting good vibes between them at the moment for whatever reason.

There was an uncomfortable silence. To ease it, Ron said, "So that lesson by Dumbledore was somethin', huh? I wonder when the next one will be, he didn't say."

"It was an excellent lesson," agreed Hermione, eager to pick up on the threads of this conversation. "I think he wants to give us more time in between to practice. Obviously, we aren't having another session this week."

"I'm sure they'll put it up on the bulletin. Either way, you can bet the news will spread quickly," said Harry.

. *** .

In Slughorn's class, Harry continued to use the Prince's, Snape's, book. He really needed to stop thinking of it as the Prince's book. Or rather, now that he knew it was Snape's old book, he felt weird thinking of his professor as 'the Prince'. But he still hadn't told his friends about the true identity of the previous owner. He continued to do well in the class, and he was encouraged by the fact that even when some of the potions didn't really have any helpful tidbits, his performance didn't suffer any. He might not do overwhelmingly better than the rest of the class, but he would still be one of the top students. He was confident that he was now doing better because of his own study habits, rather than solely relying on the Prin — Snape's — old notes. Still, that wasn't enough to get him to abandon the old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_, much to Hermione's annoyance; although Harry noted that Hermione's usual fervor was absent from their arguments nowadays. She certainly wasn't as upset anymore when the topic was broached, but Harry preferred to avoid it altogether anyways. Hermione seemed distracted lately. He wasn't sure why, but she didn't mention it so he followed suit. If it became worse, however, he would confront her about the situation. But for now, he decided to do as Malfoy suggested and leave her alone.

. *** .

Later that week, Harry was due for another lesson with Dumbledore. He wasn't sure what they would be doing this time, but was surprised when Dumbledore told him that they would be leaving the school.

"Why, sir? What do we need to do?"

"You requested, did you not, to come with me when I discovered another Horcrux?"

"You found one?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Perhaps so, but we cannot be sure. That is why you will be joining me today."

"I can come?" Harry knew Dumbledore had told him he would be able to go with him, but he found it hard to believe he would really be allowed to go.

"Of course, Harry. I did agree to this, and I am a man of my word." Harry was finding it hard not to beam in anticipation. This was it, he was really going. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"I think you will recognize the place once we get there. I have already visited the area, but was unable to enter. I will most certainly need your assistance in this matter," replied Dumbledore.

"Mine?" asked Harry flummoxed. What could he do that Dumbledore couldn't? Unless it was to catch a Snitch or something, Harry could scarcely believe he would prove any more useful than Dumbledore.

"Yes," Dumbledore said in some amusement, "yours. You have your invisibility cloak with you?"

"Yes, I carry it with me wherever I go, just like you said," answered Harry.

"Good. I suggest you put it on before we depart," said Dumbledore, standing up and retrieving his traveling cloak. "It would not be wise to alert anyone of our activity; we wouldn't want to have to answer prying questions. I must stop at Hogsmeade first to see to Madame Rosmerta."

Harry nodded his assent and began to remove his cloak from his bag.

"We will be Apparating out, which I know you understand by now, is not supposed to be possible," Dumbledore told Harry.

"Yes, Hermione's told me about a thousand times. But you can, I take it?"

"Yes, and no. Not without some assistance. I certainly do not think that, though I am the Headmaster, I should be different than anyone else. But that, of course, applies to witches and wizards. There are some creatures which possess more powerful forms of magic."

Harry thought back to the time Dumbledore escaped the clutches of then Minister Cornelius Fudge and Umbridge.

"Fawkes!"

"Yes, as a phoenix, he is a very magical creature, and can therefore do things that wizards and witches alike cannot."

"House-elves can, too. I mean, I've seen Dobby Apparate inside Hogwarts."

"Very true, Harry. House-elves carry very potent magic. But, they are continually underestimated by wizard-kind and consider everyone and everything else as inferior. An oversight, in my opinion. One that I predict will come back to haunt us. But I digress. Yes, we will be Apparating today. So let us finally be off. If you will, grasp my arm, Harry."

Harry donned his cloak and did as he was told. Fawkes glided over and, singing a high-pitched note, Disapparated as Dumbledore grabbed a hold of the plumage of Fawkes' tail. The immense pressure crushed down upon him and next thing he knew, he was in Hogsmeade village. Harry kept his cloak on while Dumbledore visited the Three Broomsticks. Once he was confident that Rosmerta was fine ('I'm doing fine, thanks,' she said when Dumbledore asked how she was doing. 'Funny thing you should ask, I've felt very… odd for a while, but I seem to be over that now.'), the left the dining place and took position to Apparate once more. Soon Harry was sucked again into that sensation he recognized as Apparition. When he came to, he found himself on a suburban road. What was Dumbledore talking about? He didn't recognize this place. But he followed Dumbledore without a word and soon they came to a stop next to some hedges. Dumbledore made his way through a small gap in the brush and the foliage. Again, Harry followed and he soon found himself in a familiar looking clearing with a dilapidated house. It was more than rundown, hardly recognizable as an actual edifice. Moss was overgrowing on everything, and the building looked eaten through beneath the all of the dead branches and thistles.

It was the home of the Gaunts. There was no dead snake attached to the door, but nonetheless, it was unmistakably the same he visited in memory even with the pitiful state of the structure. And that was when Harry realized why he was needed today.

They walked up to the door with the serpentine door knocker. "And here is where I will need your assistance, Harry. Try as I might, there was nothing I could do to circumvent this caveat."

Harry nodded his head. "Open," he said. Even as he said it, he distinguished the sound of the snake-like language.

The ruby eyes of the snake on the door glowed and permitted them entrance.

"No doubt, Voldemort believed that no wizard or witch would enter this place, and what's more, one that could speak Parseltongue," said Dumbledore as he stepped over the threshold.

Suddenly, Harry felt very disoriented, and fear such as he had never felt before gripped him. He had a very strong feeling that he needed to leave the area, and quickly. Before he could, Dumbledore grabbed his shoulder to hold him steady. He appeared to be muttering something, but Harry was too preoccupied to listen. Apparently, it was the countercurse, because soon, the feeling left Harry. "What was that?" he asked.

"Oh, just some complicated magic left behind by Voldemort. Be on your guard, Harry. I am certain that is not the last of what we will encounter today."

They moved through the cobweb-infested, mold-ridden house carefully, on the lookout for anything suspicious or out of place. Dumbledore would stop every once in a while to bypass some of the spells that Riddle had cast upon the old, ramshackle house. Their footsteps echoed unnaturally and kicked up dust. Harry struggled not to cough; the deathly quiet was so oppressive that he did not want to disturb it. Something that caught his notice was an area where a there was a large opening to the elements. A dingy light from the gaping hole cast down upon a rotting stump which jutted up through the dilapidated floorboards.

Harry sensed a strange aura coming from that area, and it seemed, so did Dumbledore. "Yes, I sense it, too," he said. Dumbledore walked carefully over and then stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong, sir?" Harry asked. "Can I do anything to help?"

"For now, no, I do not think so. But stay alert, I may need you soon." Again, Dumbledore waved his wand in intricate patterns and muttered complex incantations that Harry did not recognize. Harry stood and waited patiently while Dumbledore continued this for the next several minutes. At first, it seemed that Dumbledore's efforts were fruitless, but then, slowly, something began to happen. Like fireflies, small particles of glowing light began to swirl and gather. More and more appeared from nowhere — sparks of every hue and color. They seemed to be suffused with a burning energy. Harry could feel it, a forceful surge of power coursing through the atmosphere. The many colored specks began to consolidate and form. Working with increasing speed now, the image became clearer. Eventually, the shape of a great golden serpent materialized. Instinctively, Harry knew what to do.

"Show me," he hissed in Parseltongue. "Show me what you hide — what you protect."

The figure of the gold snake turned its attention to Harry and seemed to contemplate him for a long moment. Gold eyes turned to red and the magic creature leapt out at him. All Harry had time to do was blink in reaction. But other than to increase the beating of his heart, he was otherwise unaffected. The snake had passed through him harmlessly and burst to gold dust before finally settling down upon the stump Harry had noticed earlier. Upon the surface of the truncated tree, the golden particles formed a dome shape where it solidified.

Harry looked over at Dumbledore. _Now what?_ he thought.

"You must open it, Harry. After all, you are the Parselmouth."

_Open it? How?_

Nevertheless, he walked over to the stump, reached out, and touched what was now the solid gold dome. Suddenly, it changed to a substance which was not quite a solid, yet not quite a liquid. It also became a transparent silvery blue. Beneath the gel-like substance there was a platform with what looked to Harry to be the perfect place to stand a ring. But the ring was not there. Had they come all this way only to find the Horcrux missing?

Harry turned to Dumbledore. "What does it mean?" he asked.

"It means," said Dumbledore, "that the Horcrux is no longer here. Undoubtedly, this was once the resting place for the Horcrux, but no more."

"Why, sir? Do you think Voldemort knows that we're looking for them?"

"I think not. I would be more inclined to believe so if the next location we visit produces the same results; but for now, I think we are safe. I believe that while the Gaunts were the last living descendants of Salazar Slytherin, Riddle ultimately felt that this place was unworthy to carry a piece of his soul. His relatives had been a waste in his mind; doing nothing to hold up the name of noble name of Slytherin. And so, this area was not ideal. He may have relocated his Horcrux because of that and, looking around, it is difficult not to blame him for thinking so."

"So, what do we do now?" asked Harry.

"We keep looking, Harry, and never give up the good fight."

They come through the entire house, making sure that they weren't missing anything but, alas, there was nothing to find. SAs they walked out, disappointed but not dejected, something else caught Harry's eye.

"Sir, look at this."

Next to the stump on the floor, was carved a few various attempts at a drawing that were crossed out (obviously magically, for the lines were perfect and the thickness never varied), and at the bottom was the familiar shape of the skull with the snake. As Harry looked he realized that this was the birthplace of that iconic image of the Death Eaters' creed.

Dumbledore came and stood beside him. "Yes," he said in distaste. "It seems his infamous Dark Mark was created right here. He always did favor things of a repugnant and revolting nature."

As they left Harry pondered what the life of Voldemort must be like, to be interested in such things at such a young age. He also wondered how many more unsuccessful ventures they would have before they would, at last, find a Horcrux.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 17:

Harry is preparing for the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, and takes a big risk that he hopes will pay off. Elsewhere, Hermione tries to help Draco through his difficulties as he gets news concerning his father. Misfortune and ill news are befalling everyone it seems. How long will our trio be able to escape its clutches?

_Harry glanced at Hermione; she was now staring at Malfoy. They saw Blaise lean over and whisper something to him, and even across the hall, it was clear that his face had paled considerably and his expression turned stony. Soon, they weren't the only ones staring as other students caught a glimpse of the paper and word spread around as it often did at Hogwarts. Struggling to keep his face expressionless, Malfoy got up and stiffly made his way out of the Great Hall._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Awww, Harry doesn't want to share Snape. How cute. (Sorry, couldn't resist). ;)

[2] In my mind, Harry should grow to be about average sized. I would say 5'10", and 5'11" at the most. I certainly think he'd be taller than the very petite Daniel Radcliffe. Just my opinion.

A/N:

I hope Snape's decision to let Harry keep the book wasn't too OOC. I personally thought that it might be, but Snape's seen Harry in a different light and I don't think Harry's really done anything wrong by using some helpful hints left in a second-hand book. I think that Snape also did it to keep Harry happy enough not to divulge that he was the one who invented the Sectumsempra spell. If Harry's performance in Potions suffered significantly, then people might begin to poke their noses where Snape doesn't necessarily want them to be. Also, he knows that it is very important that Harry learn the techniques to ultimately defeat Voldemort. Making potions a bit easier allows Harry to focus more attention on this. I also think he'd get a kick out of the fact that Harry seemed to be learning so much better from the Prince, even though it's really him. If enough of you absolutely hate it and think it is overly benevolent for Snape, let me know and I'll change it. It's not pertinent to any major plot points, I just thought it was a nice touch that diverges from canon to show how Harry's and Snape's relationship has changed.

Signing off,

fanster


	18. Duplicity

Many thanks to **sunneedee** who reviewed this story.

I'd also like to thank **alix33** who generously takes the time to correct my lazy mistakes. And, yes, you should try potato soup because it's delicious!

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter or Hogwarts, etc. They belong to J.K. Rowling.

It's a much shorter chapter this time around, folks. Not sure if that's a good or bad thing. I may end up editing this more (not much, but they're may be a few things I can improve), but for now, I just wanted to post the chapter.

* * *

Chapter 17

Duplicity

It was the end of February, and the last dregs of winter were beginning to disappear. The snow had completely melted, and buds were just beginning to spring from the trees and other various flora. This was most noticeable at Quidditch practice; the weather was certainly looking up. The skies, instead of a dreary and dull grey, became a pale azure blue. All of the changes that came with spring filled Harry with excitement for the upcoming game, with one notable exception: Ron's performance was at an all-time low. And there wasn't anything Harry could think to do but pull a drastic, perhaps desperate, move. He wasn't sure how Ron would take it. But it was clear his execution wasn't going to get any better, particularly now that Hermione was telling him about her date with Ron.

Ron was out getting extra Quidditch practice with Seamus and Nick Crosby, so Harry had taken the opportunity to ask Hermione how her date with Ron went.

"It-it went alright," she replied with a false bravado that Harry could see right through.

He raised one eyebrow, giving her a skeptical expression that rivaled Snape's. He folded his arms and said, "Hermione, the truth."

"Oh, Harry, it was a complete disaster." She covered her face with her hands and looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing! That's the problem. I'm not sure what went wrong! We were having an okay time, but nothing was really different other than the fact that you weren't there. And he was so awkward, Harry."

"It's probably just nerves. It'll get better with time."

"That's not the point. I-he tried to kiss me, Harry."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say. "What do you mean he _tried_?"

"Just that. He tried to kiss me," responded Hermione.

"But he didn't?" said Harry.

"He didn't actually kiss me, no."

"What do you mean exactly, was it really that bad or did he miss or something?" asked Harry, confused and in obvious need for clarification.

"No," Hermione moaned. "He went to kiss me and I turned my head because — well, I just wasn't prepared for it. It really was a random time to try and kiss me… But when he missed, he smashed his head into the support beam behind me."

Harry couldn't help it, he laughed.

"It's not funny, Harry, it was mortifying! People saw and laughed at him; I humiliated him!"

"You didn't mean to. You weren't ready to kiss him, so what?"

"No, Harry, you don't understand. It's not that I wasn't ready to kiss him. I… I didn't want to."

There was a long pause as Harry digested the ramifications of what she just said. He knew the two hadn't exactly been getting along all that well lately and that Hermione had some reservations about going out with Ron, but he figured everything would go back to normal once Ron realized that he was a prat for dating Lavender. He simply believed that Hermione only needed time to forgive him.

"Hermione," he said, his voice becoming stern, "you have to tell him."

Hermione looked down at her lap sullenly. "It would just break his heart."

"You can't just lead him on like this! It'll get worse the longer you wait — you don't want to ruin your friendship. You've got to let him know that you don't want to be with him that way. Hermione, I think he's under the impression that you're going steady now; he didn't think the date went that badly."

"What?" asked Hermione, horrified. _How could he possibly think that_, she thought?

"Yeah, you better do something, quick."

She put her head in her hands, on the brink of crying once more.

"If you're not interested, that's not your fault. You can't help it if you just want to be friends. There's no reason for you to beat yourself up over this, Hermione," Harry reasoned.

"But… Harry… I wanted to be with Ron. I have for a long time and even this summer I was thinking about it. But now, suddenly, I don't want to anymore. I don't understand."

"Well, what's wrong? What changed?"

"I don't know!" Hermione cried in frustration. "Could it be because he's finally showing some interest and starting to take initiative?" she continued, talking more to herself now. "And now that he has, it's not interesting anymore? Am I really that shallow? I never thought I was that girl, just after the chase."

"No, Hermione," said Harry firmly, "you aren't that girl. I know you're not. Sometimes feelings just change."

"No, they don't, Harry. They don't just spontaneously change. There's always a reason. I don't think Ron's changed. I think I have — something's happened to me… I-I just don't know what."

"Well, that can't be helped, so there's no reason for you to feel guilty about it," pushed Harry, willing her not to feel so ashamed.

But the truth was that she hadn't been paying much attention to Ron lately. She could no longer rest the blame on his relationship with Lavender. He had broken up with her over a month ago and he had been making a gallant effort to show her his appreciation for her and how sorry he was. Lately, he was attempting to spend time more with her, but she always found ways to avoid it. She was always either too preoccupied with Harry or Draco. She had been neglecting him, she realized, and even though she was now certain she didn't want a romantic relationship with him, he was still one of her best friends. Her cold treatment of Ron had been completely unwarranted this time around. It made her feel ugly inside. She remained silent as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Harry gently wiped it away. "You can't explain things away all of the time. I know you, you try to find logic in everything. But sometimes logic doesn't apply. Just because something's changed doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you — or Ron. You haven't done anything wrong. Trust yourself, Hermione. You need to tell him the truth; he can't be mad at you forever for that. Yeah, I'm sure he'll be disappointed, but he'll get over it… eventually. You're one of his best friends, he's not about to throw that away."

Perhaps, Harry thought, Hermione had seen something different in Ron after he chose to be with Lavender. That was when Harry saw the noticeable difference in Hermione's demeanor towards Ron. It had been cowardly of him and he had treated her rather badly. Maybe it had just been the straw that broke the camel's back, after all of the other times Ron had disappointed her. Harry couldn't blame her for feeling that way, but he wished she would give Ron one more chance, for Harry felt that Ron had finally learned his lesson this time.

He wasn't sure what else he could say to make her feel better, or indeed, whether or not there was anything that actually _could_ make her feel better at this point. "You want to wait to tell him until after the game next week?" he asked half-jokingly.

Hermione then responded by reprimanding him for being insensitive and far too concerned about 'that silly game'.

No, she needed to tell him now. Waiting only prolonged the inevitable, and she couldn't string him along under the assumption that everything was fine in their relationship for a week. Yes, she reflected, it would most likely lead to a suffering performance from him in the Quidditch match, which would only succeed in adding to his misery — but leading him on for a week and bringing him crashing back down to Earth after the Quidditch match would be ten times crueler. Hermione knew Harry had been joking, but he also had a point. The effect this would have on Ron would clearly show, and then the entire school would find out what happened in a very publicly humiliating way. She felt terrible, but there was no way around it. Harry left so that Hermione could explain things to Ron alone; now all she had to do was to wait for him to return…

She tried to think about what went so terribly wrong. Just this summer, she had been excited about the prospect of dating Ron. The chemistry between them had been building since their first year at Hogwarts, and somewhere along the line, it imploded.

"Wow, you look glum. What's eatin' ya?"

Hermione was startled out of her morose thoughts rather abruptly, and she realized with a jolt of her stomach that it was Ginny. She hadn't even thought about what Ginny would think of all of this.

"It must be something with you sixth years," Ginny continued chattily, "because Harry seemed pretty down, too. But he insisted that nothing was wrong with him, so I left it alone. He was unusually quiet, too. So I decided maybe he needed some alone time, and honestly, it was starting to put a damper on my mood, too. Something's not wrong, is it? You guys haven't had another falling out, have you?"

Barely registered anything Ginny was saying. She looked up into her friend's face, which only reminded her of Ron. Ginny was obviously concerned for her well-being, and that only made the way Hermione was feeling worse. She had no idea why, but it made her start to cry.

"Oh, no, did you get into a fight again? What did he say to you? I can talk to him."

Hermione couldn't answer, as hard as she tried to make herself stop crying. But her efforts seemed went unnoticed, and her body did the opposite of what her brain was telling it to do.

"You poor thing… Hermione, what's wrong?" asked Ginny as she knelt beside Hermione.

Along with the tears, all of her worries and anxieties spilled forth from her.

Ginny listened intently as Hermione exorcized all of her demons, although it was hard for the red-headed girl to distinguish everything that was said through all of the sobs. "Hermione, it's okay," she said when Hermione was finished, patting her friend on the arm. "If you don't feel that way about him, there's nothing you can do about it."

Hermione was thankful Harry hadn't said anything to his girlfriend, in the event that she would tell her brother before she got to. Hermione would rather Ron found out directly from her. And in truth, she wasn't sure if Ginny would be upset with her. But Ginny was handling this much better than even she herself was.

"And if I'm being completely honest," Ginny continued, "I'm not sure why you ever fell for him in the first place. You guys are totally incompatible. He'll understand. It just might take him some time to get over it."

It was much of the same thing that Harry said. They really were alike in so many ways.

"Thanks for understanding, Ginny."

"Of course, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't? Hermione… Can I ask you something?"

"Fire away," replied Hermione miserably, wiping her eyes with a tissue Ginny procured for her. Ginny seemed to struggling internally whether or not to continue.

And then, "Is there someone else?"

Hermione looked up. She was taken aback, if truth be told, and hadn't been expecting a question like that. Harry hadn't asked her that, either.

"No, it's not that it's just… Ron and I weren't working out."

Ginny nodded her head in sympathy.

"I'm glad I can talk to you about this," said Hermione."Harry's great, but it's really nice to be able to talk to another girl about these types of things."

"Well, I can understand how that feels."

They both laughed.

But then the worry and anxiety took hold of Hermione once more. "Oh, Ginny, what am I going to do?"

"Just tell him. Harry's right — the quicker the better. I'll make sure my brother won't be such a prat about it, too."

"Please, Ginny, be nice to him." That made Hermione a little nervous. Ginny could be quite the spitfire when she wanted.

"Don't worry, I'm not like Fred and George — well, mostly Fred, actually."

"Fred what?" It was Ron. He was garbed in his Quidditch robes, his hair was tousled, and he looked as if he had not a care in the world.

"Nothing," said Ginny. "I'm going down to supper."

"Good idea," said Ron. "Let's all go. I just need to put my broom up. Where's Harry?"

"Ron, wait." Hermione held him back as Ginny left after sharing a nervous glance with Hermione. "I need to tell you something."

"Yeah, Hermione, what is it?" he asked, smiling. Hermione hated that she had to be the one to shatter that smile. But it was never going to be the perfect time to break the news.

The conversation was a depressing one. Instead of getting upset as she expected Ron would, he hardly seemed able to believe it. He only sat slumped on the sofa staring straight ahead as if in a daze, not even really seeing her, but rather seeing past her. Hermione decided to skip dinner — her appetite had deserted her — and go straight to bed. Ron's lack of reaction worried her. She lay down upon her mattress, trying to forget the hollow look in Ron's eyes, knowing that when she left Ron in the common room, she left a shell behind.

Ron continued through the rest of that week in much the same way, and it tore at Hermione whenever she caught sight of him. Nobody could get through to him. Not Harry, not Ginny. It was as if a zombie had taken the place of one of their dearest friends. As horrible as Hermione felt, she knew it was nothing compared to what Ron was going through. Harry, sensing that Ron's need was greater than hers, was spending most of his time trying to cheer his friend up. At practice, Harry made sure to watch out for Ron in case he fell off his broom. He had no life in him or motivation to do anything at all, not even Quidditch.

Harry had seen enough. "Okay, guys, bring it in."

He had one last trick up his sleeve, and he hoped to high heaven that it would work. Once they had all gathered around him (Ron was the last to touch down), he told them, "Alright, here's what we're going to do…"

. *** .

It was the morn of the big Quidditch game, and below the stands, Harry could hear the crowd roaring above them. "Is everyone ready? Seamus? Okay, I know we haven't practiced what we're about to do a whole lot, but we're ready. Just go out there and play as hard as you can, and play smart. We do that and we get the win today."

Everyone filed out, but Harry held Ron back. "Are you ready for this?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, I guess so," Ron grunted noncommittally.

"Come on, Ron. You know more about the game of Quidditch than probably everyone else on this team combined. You can do this."

Ron nodded his head and went outside to join the rest of his teammates as Harry held the door open for him, then followed.

He hoped he was making the right decision. He believed he was, but if the results didn't show it, his team might lose confidence in him.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch after Harry shook hands with the captain. "One, two, three…" The whistle sounded and Harry soared high up into the air. As the wind swept through his hair, his nervousness seemed to shrink much like the people below him. But it didn't completely leave him as his stomach clenched slightly upon hearing the commentary. Terry Boot was the commentator today. "And we're off! And… what's this? It seems that Gryffindor has made a major change to their lineup. I don't think anyone saw this one coming. It appears that Ron Weasley and Seamus Finnigan have switched positions! I can't imagine why, seeing as Ron played an outstanding game against Slytherin. But I'm sure the captain has his reasons."

Harry sure hoped so. He remembered telling his team of his plan, and the incredulous looks on their faces as he did so. At first, they looked at him as if he were making a bad joke, then as if he had gone mad. He explained his theory: Ron was great at strategy, and he could help Ginny and Katie by positioning himself exactly where he needed to be. Seamus was a better scorer, but Ron was a better passer. He was also good at recognizing the other players' weaknesses. And Harry had seen Seamus' reflexes at Dumbledore's lesson, and was curious to find out if his suspicions were correct, that Seamus would make an excellent keeper. The only disadvantage to this was that Ron didn't have a very fast broom compared to other players, and neither did Ginny. Either way, Harry thought putting Ron back in goal given his current state would only spell disaster. He was too inconsistent, and the pressures of goalkeeping were too much for him. Out on the field with other players, Harry felt he would handle it much better. He sincerely hoped this plan would work. There was no in-between; it would either be a stroke of genius, or his strategy would crash and burn, and probably come back to haunt him.

While keeping an eye out for the Snitch, he also tried to concentrate on what was happening elsewhere. He was able to keep tabs of what was happening through Terry's commentary. He was, in Harry's opinion, much better than Zacharias Smith. Speaking of which…

"And Weasley's stolen the ball from Smith!"

Harry smiled. "And Weasley passes to Weasley… I suppose I should refer to them by their first names… otherwise it's rather confusing."

Harry kept an eye on Summerby who was circling just as he was on the opposite side.

"And Ginny Weasley scores! 10-0 Gryffindor!" Harry gave a silent cheer, some of his unease fading away.

"And there goes Smith," Terry was saying. "He passes it to Cadwallader. Cadwallader streaks down the field. Peakes just misses with that Bludger. And he's past all of the defenders… One-on-one now and here's the first test for the new Gryffindor Keeper…" Harry couldn't help it, he was too high up to see what was happening, but he stopped in mid-air to hear what would happen next.

"And, oh! What a terrific save by Finnegan! He really got a hold of that one, didn't he?"

Harry exhaled in relief. So far, so good.

A few minutes later and the Snitch still seemed to be nowhere in sight. Summerby it seemed, had gotten a bit bored of looking for the Snitch himself, and was following Harry around and let him do all of the legwork. A mistake, Harry thought, as his broom was the faster of the two.

"What beautiful passing by the Gryffindor team, here. The Chasers hardly touch the ball for more than a second before passing it on. Great teamwork for this newly formed trio, they already seem to have a good chemistry with each other. No doubt Ron and Ginny Weasley are quite familiar with one another."

The score now stood at 50-0. Seamus it seemed, didn't have to do much work so far, but made two more saves. The trio of Ron, Ginny, and Katie had proven effective. Ginny played like the lethal scoring-machine she was, but Ron was very good tactically and the formations were flawless from what Harry heard and saw of the few glimpses he caught of the match. Terry, the commentator, agreed. "Well, so far, this new lineup has worked out wonderfully for Gryffindor. I think it's thrown Hufflepuff a bit off guard to tell the truth. But now, Cadwallader has found a hole in the defense. Oh, what a brilliant drop-off pass to Smith. Smith shoots… and scor — wait no! A spectacular save from Finnegan, stretching from his broom to eradicate that shot from Smith. I thought for sure that one was going in, but Finnegan is showing both his mettle and his athletic ability out there on the pitch today."

It was as good a start as Harry could have possibly imagined. But it would all be for naught if he couldn't catch the Snitch. And then, there it was, peeking out from the clouds. He put on a burst of speed to reach it, the wind whistling in his ears, so that he couldn't hear any of Terry's commentary: "And look! Potter's seen something. Will he get to the Snitch in time, I wonder?"

But the Snitch took an abrupt upwards turn and suddenly the sun was glaring in his eyes, impeding his view of the Snitch. Both he and Summerby pulled up. The Snitch was nowhere to be seen.

"And no, that tiny ball of trouble is hidden from the sight of the Seekers once again. The clever little blighter has evaded both of them for the time being. And back to the action below, the Weasley siblings really have a good feel for each other out there. Opposing teams glad to be rid of the twins have another Weasley dynamic duo to deal with it seems. Of course, Katie is an excellent player as well, by far the most experienced Chaser on the field today. Jones has taken the loose ball and is making her way down the field. Megan Jones, of course, has a bit of Quidditch blood in her herself — related to the famous Holyhead Harpies captain, Gwenog Jones! She's a hall-of-famer for sure, although Megan is certainly a good player in her own right. And what a move to get past Ginny Weasley! It's very difficult to perform, that spin move, very tricky indeed. She's one-on-one with Finnegan; can she finally get Hufflepuff on the board? … And there's a well-placed Bludger by the Gryffindor Beater, Cootes; slid it through traffic just in time to get the back of Jones' broom and knock her off balance just enough to cause her to miss well wide of the target. Some impressive accuracy and veteran savvy on display from the 7th year player."

There was no doubt about it, Harry definitely preferred Terry's commentary to Smith's. He noted with some satisfaction that Smith seemed to be struggling mightily on the field today. His baseless hypercriticism in the last match had earned him some extra aggression from the team (and some of the crowd) to be sure.

The Snitch during this stretch of time had remained stubbornly out of sight. Ginny scored two more goals, Ron and Katie each added one of their own, and Jones had finally put one in for Hufflepuff, bringing the score to 90-10. They were annihilating Hufflepuff and in complete control of the game. The offense was lethal and the Gryffindors in the crowd drowned the stadium with their noise. Just like the last game, it was if they could do no wrong. Everyone in red and gold was all smiles. Harry even saw that Ron was starting to enjoy himself. Seamus blocked another blazing shot from Jones, but Cadwallader had been in the right place at the right time to put it back in. The score was now 90-20.

And then Harry saw it, the tell-tale glint of gold glittering across the pitch. Harry saw that Summerby was in a bit of a funk, no doubt lulled into a contented state because the Snitch had not made an appearance in quite some time. Harry tried to casually get closer to the Snitch before he noticed. He glided very slowly over to the Snitch before Summerby caught on to what was happening. He had even tricked the crowd. It was actually Summerby that caught everyone's attention. "And Summerby's found something! Oh, Potter had snuck up on the Snitch while no one else was paying attention! He's very close, there's no way Summerby will get there in time. He just has to pray that the Snitch will evade Potter's clutches." Once Harry was near, he put on a burst of speed before the Snitch could elude him. This was definitely one of the easiest catches of his career, if not one of the most unexciting. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that his team emerged victorious.

"And Gryffindor's won! Gryffindor has won and this one's all over folks!" shouted Terry over the many cheers and jeers. "Total domination today by the red and gold, although there were a few magical moments for the Badgers to be sure. But Gryffindor put together as comprehensive a game as I've seen in a long time. I'm sure my own house of Ravenclaw is taking notes on the opponent for their next and final match of the year. It's back to the drawing board for everyone else to catch the Lions in the standings, who are very much on top after this one. That's a wrap for today — the final score: 240-30 — we'll see you next time" [1].

The whole team congregated below and congratulated each other. Ron and Seamus in particular earned extra pats on the back. There was a raucous celebration in the common room that night; Ron and Harry had snuck into the kitchen to grab treats for the event. Harry noticed that Ron and Hermione seemed to be avoiding each other. She had come over to give them a quick congratulations, but even in that exchange Harry sensed an awkward vibe between his two best friends.

It was more of the same at breakfast the next morning. "Could you pass the pepper, Ron?" Hermione asked much too politely.

"Of course," said Ron, trying but failing to appear nonchalant.

It went without saying that Harry felt completely uncomfortable sitting in between the two of them. He hoped things wouldn't continue to be this stilted between them for too long.

But all of this was forgotten when an owl bringing Hermione the morning paper swooped down to deliver its package. It didn't take long for her to scan the front page before dropping her fork with a dull clank on the plate in shock. Harry immediately noticed that something was up. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

She didn't say anything, but continued to stare at the paper in horror. Harry gently took the paper from her hands and looked.

The front page read: _Prominent Death Eaters Escape Azkaban_

Among the six pictures of the escaped detainees were Rodolphus Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy.

This concerned Harry greatly, for immediately after Scrimgeour took office, he banished the Dementors and enlisted Aurors to guard the prisoners. Yet it seemed they were still struggling to hold on to dangerous prisoners. Two of the Aurors were killed during the breakout.

"Man, can't we ever just lock these guys away?" Ron wondered aloud as he looked over Harry's shoulder to read the latest news.

Harry glanced at Hermione; she was now staring at Malfoy. They saw Blaise lean over and whisper something to him, and even across the hall, it was clear that his face had paled considerably and his expression turned stony. Soon, they weren't the only ones staring as other students caught a glimpse of the paper and word spread around as it often did at Hogwarts. Struggling to keep his face expressionless, Malfoy got up and stiffly made his way out of the Great Hall. Harry could tell Hermione was anxious to speak to him, but she couldn't be caught talking to Malfoy. Especially with his father now out of prison, that would make things even more dangerous for him.

Hermione waited after she was done with breakfast to attempt to contact Malfoy. Luckily, she was able to catch him after class. He was waiting in a hidden niche along the corridor. "How are you feeling?" Hermione asked him.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Truthfully, I don't."

"There's not enough time to talk now, but maybe we should meet later? Harry's right, it was dangerous for us to meet in the library. Do you want to meet me back at the Astronomy Tower tonight?"

Malfoy nodded his head. "That's fine. That is… if you want to. You don't have to do this, you know."

"I know. But I want to," she responded with earnest.

"Alright," he finally said. "I'll see you tonight."

"See you."

. *** .

Later that night, when the two of them were to meet at the top of the tower, Hermione asked to borrow Harry's cloak and map to make sure neither she nor Malfoy were being followed. She could tell that Harry was a reluctant to part with two of his most treasured possessions, but her safety was far more important to him.

"There's something I don't understand," he said, before handing the cloak over to her.

"Oh, yeah? What's that?" she tried to ask offhandedly.

"How did you and Malfoy even start all of this? I mean, what, was he nice to you all of the sudden or something? I know you went to see him when… well, when he got hurt. That was enough to convince him to trust you? What did you tell him that made him want to go to Dumbledore for help, and then to turn for our side?"

Harry had been meaning to ask this ever since he saw her and Malfoy together. It all just didn't seem to fit and it had bothering him. But he had been preoccupied with the discovery of the identity of the Half-Blood Prince and Dumbledore's lessons, among other things. But now, here was his chance.

"And what made you believe he was sincere?" Harry continued. "What did he say to you? Obviously, he needed somebody to vouch for him to Dumbledore, but why you?"

Hermione shifted guiltily. "Well, I knew he was a Death Eater, and I could tell that's not what he wanted. But I guess it all started when we had those detentions together. We talked a lot about the war, and the whole Pureblood ideology. He talked about his family a bit…"

Harry's eyebrows shot up at the last statement. "Really?"

"Yes. And then I realized he isn't who I always thought he was. I mean, obviously becoming a Death Eater changed his mind about a lot of things, but —"

"Wait a minute, Hermione. I was the one who thought he was a Death Eater. Eventually, you thought so, too. But we still didn't know for sure. That's why I was spending all of that time trying to get into the Room of Requirement."

She sighed in resignation. "No, Harry, I knew."

"But — what, did he tell you?" Harry asked incredulously.

"No, not exactly. I found out and I —"

"When?"

"What?" Hermione found it a little disorienting to think about what she was going to say when Harry kept interrupting her.

"When did you find out that he was a Death Eater?"

Hermione avoided Harry's eyes as she tried to come up with an explanation before she told him how long she had been keeping this from him.

"How long have you known, Hermione?" Harry's voice lost all tone of patience.

"Since around Christmas, but just hear me out —"

"What? That long! Why didn't you just tell me, Hermione? I — "

"Because of this, Harry! I just knew you would fly off the handle if I told you and you would've gone straight to Dumbledore!"

"And for good reason! Or did you just forget what happened to Ron and Katie?"

"Of course not, Harry! I did tell him that I _would_ go to Dumbledore if anything else happened. Listen, just listen to me," she said before Harry could get his objections in. "I gave Draco my word that I wouldn't tell anyone if he promised not to hurt anyone. He told me about his mission and everything. He didn't think he had a choice, and he thought he and his parents would die if he failed. You weren't there; you didn't see how he was. I needed him to trust me. He clearly didn't want any of it, and I needed to convince him to tell Dumbledore so that he could leave the Death Eaters. I know for a fact that you wouldn't have agreed to keep quiet, don't you dare try to deny it. That's why I didn't tell you, or anyone else for that matter. You know how rash you can be sometimes. Besides, Dumbledore already knew. It all worked out, didn't it?"

Harry gave her a skeptical look at this. "I don't know, it was still pretty risky, Hermione."

"But you understand why I did it?"

Now that Harry had enough to time calm down, he relented. "Yes," he said dully, "I do. But I still wish that you would've said something."

Hermione could see the hurt in his eyes from the knowledge that she had lied to him. "Harry, I couldn't. Not if I wanted to keep my promise, you know that."

Harry just grumbled something indistinct in response.

"I'm just surprised he took my advice so quickly," she said, trying to change the subject. "I thought it would be more painful to convince him, but I guess I really got through to him."

Now it was Harry's turn to look guilty.

Hermione saw the look on his face and narrowed her eyes. "Or maybe not. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you Harry?"

He stretched the collar of his shirt nervously. "I think it might be because he knew that I was getting close to figuring out what he was up to."

"And how was that?" asked Hermione, folding her arms. "Harry?" she prompted when he didn't budge.

"Well, I might have used Legilimency to find out where he was going and —"

"Harry! That can be dangerous! And you scold me for being risky? What if it hadn't been Malfoy and it was someone who really was a Death Eater?"

"I know, I know. I should have listened to Snape, but —"

"Oh, Harry, I'd better go," said Hermione, frantically looking at her watch. "I'm going to be late."

"Alright, I'll see you later." His answer was still a bit short, but at least she knew he wasn't angry with her anymore.

By the time she got to the top of the tower, Malfoy was already there waiting for her. She took off the cloak. "Hi," she said.

"Hi. Potter's cloak, huh?"

"Yeah, he let me borrow it." She didn't say anything about the map. Harry made it clear he wished for that particular item to remain a closely guarded secret.

"Is Potter all worked up now that my father's escaped?" asked Malfoy.

"Yes, and Ron is, too."

"Oh, yes, Weasel-bee," he said in disdain. "I heard about your little date. Tell me, is he as charming as he looks or is he actually _more_ polite than a Blast-Ended Skrewt? Where did he take you, out to the Knut-store's galore?"

"Why do you always have to be so rude? The date went perfectly fine, thank you very much," Hermione said with a sniff.

"Hey, no need to get so defensive," Malfoy suggested.

"I'm not being defensive!"

"Mm-hmm," said Malfoy, clearly unconvinced. "I saw the mark on his forehead. Was that from you?" he asked with heavy sarcasm.

"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione indignantly. Hopefully he would never find out how close to the truth he was, for he would never let her live it down. Thankfully, the few people who saw what happened had not sent it along the proverbial grapevine; that was the only explanation for Malfoy's ignorance on the matter.

"I thought you were smarter than that, Granger."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You may be book smart, but you aren't street-smart, and apparently you're no great shakes in the romantic arena, either."

"And why should I be taking advice from you, Malfoy?" asked Hermione.

"That's not advice; it's a statement of fact. Seriously, the Weasel? Even Potter wouldn't be as bad, and you know how I feel about him. I'm actually a bit surprised," said Malfoy. "He would've been my first guess when you all became friends."

"Yeah, you along with everyone else," Hermione sighed.

"Well, you seem to get along better with him, at any rate. Your fights with Weasel King were always rather… public. Maybe that should've been a clue instead. He was just pulling the pigtails. Figuratively, of course. I can't actually imagine you in pigtails."

"Why are we even talking about this? I hardly think your number one topic of interest is my love life," said Hermione.

"I just want to be here to say 'I told you so.'"

"Is that so?" said Hermione, starting to get a little annoyed.

"Yes, it is. When everything comes crashing down, just remember that I was right."

"Oh, I'm sure that will bring me great comfort," Hermione said sarcastically.

"That's what gets me through the day," he said with a smirk.

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation. "Here I am, trying to be nice to you, and this is how you repay me?"

"Oh, come on, Granger," cajoled Malfoy. "You know I'm just giving you a hard time."

"That was sort of my point," said Hermione.

Malfoy chuckled and they sat in a comfortable silence, the stars keeping them company.

The mood became subdued when Hermione asked, "So how are you doing, really?"

Hermione could see an immediate change in Malfoy as she asked this; he tensed up as if that could block everything out. After a while he said, "I knew my father would escape eventually. I don't know what's going to happen, now. I can't tell him I've switched sides. Imagine that. 'Hello, father. I just wanted to let you know that I think you and your pals are scum and I've joined forces with Dumbledore.' Terrific."

"Well, what are you going to tell him?"

"Since he'll obviously notice my mother's absence, we've got to give him some alibi. I've talked with Snape and Dumbledore. My story is going to be that I'm getting close to Potter and his friends to give… him… vital information in order to finally take out the Boy-Who-Lived."

A seed of doubt suddenly crept into Hermione's heart. It must have shown on her face for Malfoy suddenly said, "That's my cover, you know it's not true."

Hermione could just barely detect the twinge of hurt on his face and immediately felt horrible for entertaining such thoughts even for the briefest of moments. "Of course I know it's not true," she reassured him.

After a less comfortable silence, Malfoy continued. "Anyway, that's the story we're feeding my father and…"

"And Voldemort." Hermione would usually reprimand him for fear of saying a name, but decided that in this case, Malfoy have a very good reason to fear the evil wizard. There was also the risk that he might let his former master's name slip whilst in his presence.

"The idea is that I've fooled Dumbledore by taking advantage of his willingness to forgive people and give them second chances. They consider him sentimental and see this as a vulnerability — a weakness. This would purportedly be his reasoning behind offering to protect my mother."

"Have you talked to your mother at all since then? What did she think; what did she have to say about all of this?" asked Hermione.

"Well, she —"

Malfoy was cut short as he clutched his left forearm with a sharp intake of breath. He and Hermione shared a significant sideways glance.

"I have to go, he's calling me."

He stood up, his face becoming hard.

Hermione reached out an arm to stop him. "Malfoy… be careful."

He nodded his head twice, and then turned to leave. The sound of his footsteps sounded both hollow and foreboding to Hermione, as if echoing the hopelessness and inevitably of the path that he was set upon.

She sat and watched as he traversed his way across the grounds. She couldn't actually see him, as he was under the influence of the Disillusionment charm, but she imagined Malfoy sauntering down the path with his lazy, long strides full of the confidence and disinterest that she was used to seeing rather than the vulnerable, fearful boy she knew he probably was at the moment and had every right to be. She couldn't be sure from such a distance if she saw correctly or had just been conjuring the image in her own mind, but she thought she could see the entrance gates swing open and closed.

Dumbledore had made it so that Malfoy could both enter and exit through the gates and it would notify the Headmaster when Malfoy was admitted through the entryway, as no one could Apparate into or out of Hogwarts.

She looked up at the stars above her. Hermione didn't believe in any deity, but she reflexively sent out a silent request to any and every divine power that existed among the twinkling celestial bodies to bring Draco Malfoy back alive and whole.

. *** .

"Would you like some more tea?"

Narcissa looked up. "No, thank you, Molly," she said.

When she first arrived at Grimmauld Place, she would keep mostly to herself — opting to stay in her room or else sitting by herself in the library of her late cousin's home. Well, technically it now belonged to Harry Potter, the sworn enemy of her husband and his affiliates. But enough time passed until she longed for human company. The ugly house-elf, Kreacher, would dote on her often and croon over her Pureblood status. He frequently reiterated the joy his mistress would feel at having someone like her in the noble house of Black. But that hardly counted as satisfying interaction.

And so, she began to eating her meals more regularly with the Weasleys and then on a nightly basis. When Arthur was at work, she would talk to Molly. At first it was rather discomfiting for both women, but eventually, conversations became more natural. Sometimes, she would even help with chores around the house. She had very little experience with this but found it wasn't nearly as bad as she had previously imagined. However, she did tend to leave the more unsanitary tasks to the Weasley matriarch.

One thing that the humdrum activity did provide was a distraction. For a few moments, she could forget her troubles. But that hadn't worked as of late, since Draco had told her of his intentions.

When he told her what he was planning to do, she immediately told him no. She would simply not allow it. But then he recited some nonsense that it was his decision to make, that he was doing this to return honor to the name of Malfoy and also, to protect her.

But he was just a boy, and not just any boy but her son; it was her job to protect him! Dumbledore, she thought, had most certainly filled her son's head with silly ideas of grandeur and valor.

She remembered her confrontation with Dumbledore. She had yelled and screamed at him, telling him exactly what she thought of him and his ideas. To her irritation, he just stood there and calmly explained that he did not try to sway Draco either way, but simply laid out the choice before him. But he had no right to put such thoughts into her son's head. She was angry with Dumbledore, angry with her husband… angry with practically everyone.

It kept her up most nights, and when she woke up from her fitful slumber, it was with the hope that all of her fears were nothing more than a nightmare. But they weren't. It was one of those rare instances when reality was more terrifying than the nightmares.

She wanted to march right up to Hogwarts and drag Draco back here with her, but she knew she couldn't. All she could do was wait and hope that nothing bad happened to her only son. She had also spilled many a tear for her only child. It was extremely difficult to keep herself from thinking morbid thoughts — he was just a boy, what chance did he have against one of the most feared wizards of all time? Was the hope for Draco to return safely to her a false one? …

She was trapped with nowhere to go, with no one to run to. All she could do was wait…

. *** .

Draco walked through the dark woods — there was an Anti-Apparition field surrounding the large manor that the Dark Lord was now staying in, so he had to approach from a distance. The area was nice, but the closer in you got to the massive house, the more unkempt it became. It was obvious that no one was tending to the greenery or forest surrounding the place. The dark, dank atmosphere was only heightened by the thick blanket of fog that had rolled in, creeping its way across the sylvan landscape. He was sure that Nagini explored around here for dead or soon-to-be-dead animals. He could hear the baleful trickling of the brook nearby and the drip-dropping emanating from the sodden leaves of the trees. There was an unnatural, uncouth smell about the air. Off in the distance he thought he could hear the sounds of baying werewolves. Or perhaps they were just regular wolves, but it was hard to think of anything being normal in a time like this.

He came into view of the Dark Lord's current abode after sweeping a few damp hanging branches out of the way at the clearing. The edifice itself was very imposing and menacing. Knowing the identity of the master of the house, Draco thought that in comparison, the Shrieking Shack represented an inviting, cozy and quite charming dwelling. But at one time, Draco was sure that this building was just as luxurious and sophisticated as his own home in Wiltshire.

Walking toward the formidable domicile, he wanted nothing more than to turn back. His legs moved forward, seemingly of their own accord, for his brain was telling him to go the other direction. But he made his way inside, knowing that the Dark Mark would permit him entrance. It was mostly dark in the halls, only lit by a few sparse candles along the way. Honestly, it all seemed rather melodramatic to Draco. What was the use in having everything so dark, it was hardly practical. If he were a dastardly villain, he wouldn't be afraid to show off the ostentatiousness and grandeur of his own place. Not that he'd ever let the Dark Lord know his opinion on that particular matter. He suspected that aversion to light was a result of the snake-like man's new body. Or perhaps from the loss of use. He could hardly imagine the Dark Lord was a man who popped outside to smell the flowers.

He walked down the solely illuminated path (so, it had one use). He entered the room quietly. There was a high-backed chair facing away from him beside a low-burning fire. "Master, I am here," he said, kneeling by the chair. There was no answer.

"He's not here right now," said another man whom Draco had not seen, the room being dimly lit (how could one expect anything else from the snake-man). "He's seeing to his evening ministrations, and will be with you shortly," said Wormtail, bowing. Draco had no idea why Wormtail decided to become a Death Eater. He wasn't the Death Eater type. He was cowardly and spineless, and Draco was surprised he had had the gall to seek out the Dark Lord.

After a few moments of uneasy silence, Wormtail tensed up and walked out of the room, bowing to the Dark Lord as he did so.

Draco stood a little taller. "My Lord," he said, bowing also. The thin, pale man said nothing and swept gracefully over to his chair.

He sat and stared at him for what seemed like hours to Draco. He made sure to keep his walls intact and protect the vital information, as he was sure that his 'master' was trying to check for any deceit.

Finally, apparently satisfied for Draco was still alive, the Dark Lord leaned back. "Severus — excuse me, your _professor_ — tells me you have abandoned the mission I assigned you and opted for one of your own designs?" he asked in a somewhat mocking tone. Draco had discussed this with Snape and Dumbledore numerous times. If the Dark Lord thought Draco thought up this plan all on his own, that would be to his advantage. It would also be bad for Snape if the Dark Lord thought he planted the idea in Draco's head.

"Yes, my Lord," he answered automatically. "I tried to dispose of Dumbledore, but it hasn't been an easy task. I believe I have formulated a plan that would allow for that eventually, but in the meantime, I took advantage of a window of opportunity that crossed my path."

"And what was that?"

"The girl. She was upset and crying… She was vulnerable. Boy trouble or something of that nature. So I decided to be her knight in shining armor to the rescue, as it were. I gave her a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on. I used my Malfoy charm to get her to befriend me."

In his mind, he let images of his confrontation with Granger at the beginning of the year float to the forefront. But instead of Potter comforting her as what really happened, he placed himself there instead. He decided to leave out the attacking birds. As much as he relished the sight, it wasn't relevant and he didn't want the Dark Lord misinterpret his partially counterfeited memory.

"And now that I've gained her trust," Draco continued, "it's only a matter of time before Potter follows. On the outside it may appear that Potter is the driving force behind that outfit, but that is misguided. Make no mistake, he and that blood-traitor Weasley follow her lead. Potter is a far cry from being the best student in Hogwarts or really doing anything notable outside Quidditch. The only reason people listen to him at all is because he's the Boy-Who-Lived. And Weasley, well, he's a bumbling idiot who makes Potter look like Merlin. Granger's the smart one, and she's the one that can influence Potter. Once I'm in, I can manipulate her to get to him: information on the Order, on Dumbledore… whatever you want."

Again, the Dark Lord surveyed him closely, as if debating whether or not the potential value was enough to stop him from simply killing Draco. His long, spindly fingers (with grotesquely lengthy fingernails) stroked his chin in thought. After some deliberation he finally said, "Alright, I will allow you to see this through, and give you my authorization to continue this mission and forget about Dumbledore for the moment."

Draco wanted to sigh in relief but refrained from doing so.

"However, you still disobeyed me. I am glad you have taken this upon yourself, and I must admit that the idea does intrigue me, but I must teach you restraint and discipline. I simply cannot allow you to act alone without my authorization as you did, no matter how useful you deem it. Your real transgression was in failing your first mission; but given your inspired use of ingenuity, I shall allow you to live. This, you should be grateful for… But failure is not an option for your self-chosen mission… And now I will demonstrate what happens to those who stray, and put their toe over the line, as they say."

Draco had expected this, certainly, but that didn't stop the sinking feeling of dread from stirring inside the pit of his stomach.

"Yes, my Lord. I understand. Thank you, my Lord, for your mercy."

The Dark Lord lifted his wand into the air, like a spectral being from on high — a god delivering his punishment in the last judgment.

"_Crucio!_"

. *** .

Hermione couldn't sleep. She stayed up in the common room, there was no one left in the room but her. She sat by the window looking down at the path from the front gates. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but it was long enough to see Malfoy return. She saw him, a tiny dot, barely visible. But she was sure it was him; she could see the blond hair. And then the dot suddenly stopped… and didn't start moving again. Disillusioning herself, she hurried out of the portrait-hole, ignoring the protestations of the Fat Lady. She flew down the hallways and flights of stairs, disregarding any noise she might be making. Throwing the front doors open she ran down the pathway that met the entrance gate.

Finally, she came across Malfoy, stumbling up to the castle. She removed the charm.

"Granger? What are you do — wait, a minute, how can you see me?" he looked down. "Forgot. Dis-disillusion," he panted.

Hermione was concerned, it wasn't like Malfoy to speak in incomplete sentences and he was leaning heavily on the tree next to him. He didn't look well at all, in fact, he looked terrible. She couldn't keep herself from imagining the horrors that Voldemort must have put him through.

"What happened to you?" she asked.

"My Lord…" he stopped to breathe, "showed me mercy."

"If that's mercy, I'd hate to see him angry."

"Ha! If he had been angry… I wouldn't be here."

Hermione knitted her brows. "Come on, don't talk like that."

"Why are you here?"

"I couldn't sleep. I saw you walking this way and stop. I was worried."

"Why couldn't you sleep?" Draco asked innocently, but ruining the effect with his slight smirk, regaining some of his former swagger.

She wasn't sure what to say, but was saved from having to come up with something.

"Might I suggest we take this inside, where it's warm?"

They both turned around sharply. Both of them recognized that voice instantly. It was Dumbledore.

"Professor!" exclaimed Hermione, unsure if she was in trouble.

"Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy. Let's get Draco inside. I will conceal us all."

Hermione took one side, while Dumbledore took the other and they helped Malfoy to the castle. Dumbledore murmured a few words, and suddenly, they were invisible as if they were using Harry's cloak except they had freedom of movement. Hermione didn't want to ask the Headmaster to teach her the spell at a time like this; maybe she could get Harry to find out later.

When they got inside, Dumbledore directed Hermione to the Hospital Wing.

"I don't need to go to the Hospital Wing!" Malfoy argued.

"Oh, I don't think you have a choice in the matter, Mr. Malfoy."

And so they escorted a disgruntled Malfoy up to Madame Pomfrey who became equally disgruntled when she saw the state of him.

"May I accompany to your rooms, Miss Granger?" asked Dumbledore.

"Of course, professor," she said.

Well, she could hardly say no to the Headmaster, but if truth be told, she was slightly affronted that he thought she needed supervision just to the dormitories. She was a perfectly capable witch as she had proven on numerous occasions. Perhaps Ron was right. Maybe she was too easily offended when it came to matters like this. It could be that Dumbledore was just being chivalrous and polite.

She assumed he would leave once she said the password to the entrance hole, but to her surprise, Dumbledore followed her inside.

Forestalling her question, Dumbledore said, "Would you please go and retrieve your friends Harry and Ron?"

Slightly confused, Hermione nevertheless went to go get her best friends. When it came to Dumbledore, she didn't ask questions. It was clear that this was urgent.

Once the three were assembled in the common before Dumbledore he said, "I'm afraid I have grave news for you all."

_Oh, no_, thought Hermione. Was it about Draco? Was it so bad that he couldn't say it in front of him?

"As you all know, Remus has been working underground to try and gather support for our cause among the werewolf population."

All three listened on tenterhooks, not liking where this story was going.

"Unfortunately, there was a confrontation between him and a divided group he was trying to convince. He was badly hurt."

Hermione gasped.

"How bad?" Harry had the courage to ask.

"The argument occurred at an unfortunate time, just before transformation at the full moon. As you can imagine, his wounds are very severe. We have our best Healers tending to him. But we still cannot be certain that this will be enough. I must be honest with you; there is a good chance he will not make it. I am deeply sorry. I know he means a great deal to you all. He has always been one of the most kind and caring men I have ever had the fortune to meet. I will be sure to keep you posted on his condition as the Healers inform me of the situation. I understand how upsetting this news can be. If there is anything any of you need, my door is always open."

Dumbledore left, the twinkle in his eyes replaced by a somber expression.

Harry sunk into one of the nearby couches and clasped his hands to his forehead. Ron was pale as a ghost, even for him, and Hermione couldn't stop the tears from flowing gently forth. How could this happen? Bad things were happening to everyone it seemed: to people she didn't know, to family of classmates… but this… this just hit home. She could feel the toll the war was taking on her, on everyone… Professor Lupin… As she sat there crying silently, she wondered how many more of these incidents must occur before the madness finally ended.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 18:

Harry and company get news on Lupin's fate. While Hermione battles her own demons, Harry uncovers a secret that threatens to shatter normally sturdy bonds of trust. And then, Harry joins Dumbledore on a dangerous quest to begin to lift the hold that Voldemort has on immortality. But will the danger be intensified when the two of them come to a head during a major disagreement?

_Dumbledore's eyes flashed furiously. "That's enough!"_

_Harry wasn't sure he had ever seen him this angry. On the rare occasions Harry had seen Dumbledore's temper tested, it was cold and detached, and never directed at him. He might sometimes become impatient and maybe ever so slightly irritable during discussions like these, but never downright furious as he was now. He looked absolutely livid. If Harry hadn't been so angry in his own right, he would have been horrified, or at the very least, chastised for causing the normally calm and serenely composed man such obvious distress._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Zacharias, the douchebag he is, decided to score a goal while everyone else was paying attention to the Seekers.

A/N:

I know I changed the dates for Quidditch matches a bit, but I honestly don't think it makes a difference, other than I want to spread the games out in my story. As you can tell, I don't have a set pace that time passes by in the story. After all, this is Harry Potter, not 24. Significant events are what are important, and I find a time table for chapters is a creative restriction.

Wow, this chapter was a really short one. Hmm.

Signing off,

fanster


	19. Hunting Horcruxes

Someone pointed out that in the last chapter, it was a little strange that Ron believed the date went well. It's a great point. The date itself didn't go that badly, but obviously the part at the end was a catastrophe. To me, I think Ron is just in denial. Part of him knows things went badly, but he just can't admit it to himself. And he certainly didn't want to tell Harry that anything went wrong. That's why he's not completely shocked when Hermione tells him she doesn't want to be with him, it just demoralizes him.

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own Harry Potter, but I think I'm getting there. I swear, J.K. Rowling is about to cave in. ;)

I have taken scenes from 'The Cave', Chapter 26 from _The Half-Blood Prince_. I have rephrased it in my own writing as much as I could. A lot of it is the same, yet much is different. However, many of the ideas in these scenes belong to Rowling, although this chapter includes original material. I just needed the cave scene in my story and couldn't leave it out. But this chapter is pretty action/drama-packed. To those of you who have stayed patient with this story, it will really pay off after this chapter. This is the last chapter I have written that borrows heavily from the cannon series. It is really after this chapter where I take a major departure from cannon. I'm sure much of this story, while it certainly has had some major differences, has seemed a bit like a rehashing of HP6. But I promise you, that is not the case. And without further ado, I give you Chapter 18.

* * *

Chapter 18

Hunting Horcruxes

The trio received good news from McGongall the next morning. It seemed that Lupin had pulled through the worst of his injuries and was going to make it. They were given permission to visit him during the weekend after Apparition lessons.

Hermione was, predictably, the first to get it down. Ron went on about Twycross drooling over Hermione. Harry rather agreed but held no bitterness over the matter.

Susan Bones came next, and then…

_Pop!_

"And Mr. Potter's done it, everyone! Could you show your classmates again?"

Harry was a little nervous being put on the spot like that, but nevertheless, concentrated hard upon his destination… Cheers broke out and he opened his eyes to see that he had successfully moved inside of his hoop.

"Well done! Congratulations, and keep up the good work. Now, did everyone see his focus and his determination to — ?"

He allowed himself a small smile; he had done it. The sensation was still unpleasant, but it didn't seem as bad as it had before.

Hermione was beaming at him, although Ron looked rather annoyed.

Harry didn't care. He had successfully Apparated on his own.

"So you Apparated, did you, Harry? That's great. You're father picked up on that quickly as well," said Lupin, in high spirits despite the many awful-looking cuts and bruises he was sporting. "And you, too, Hermione? Well, I can't say I'm surprised there."

"I thought I felt something when I tried this morning," Ron said grumpily, clearly ready to be done with the topic.

"I'm sure it won't take you much longer, Ron," assured Lupin.

Ron shrugged and gave a noncommittal grunt.

"Anyways, I also have good news," said Lupin. "Tonks and I are getting married," he burst out before they could get a word in.

"What?" they all shouted in unison.

"Oh, that's fantastic," squealed Hermione.

"Congratulations," beamed Harry.

"Wow, when did that happen?" asked Ron.

"Oh, well, Tonks has been trying to get me to come around for a while now." _And Mrs. Weasley_, Harry thought, remembering how she tried to get her to stay for dinner over the summer. _That_ must have been a part of her dejected mood.

"I told her it was too dangerous; I was adamant that I was too old, too damaged — what with my… condition. But after what happened… you think I look bad now, but you should have seen me last night; I was a wreck. I tried to intercede between the fight, but I wasn't very successful, as you can see. They tore me up pretty good… Anyways… after that I came to the realization that I couldn't live my life in fear any longer. When I thought I was going to die, all I could think of was the regret of not being with the woman I loved, telling her how I feel… so many missed opportunities. Most people aren't lucky enough to get that second chance. Take a lesson from that, you three."

They all nodded quietly. Then, Hermione said, "When is the wedding?" Harry got the feeling she had been bursting to say this ever since they found out he was getting married.

Lupin smiled. "Soon. This spring; I think it should be during your Easter break."

"You weren't kidding, that _is_ soon," said Ron. Harry calculated the time in his head; that put the wedding a little more than a month away.

"It's so exciting!" squealed Hermione.

"It's great, Remus, it really is," said Harry. Lupin beamed at them again, and Harry wasn't sure he'd ever seen his former professor happier.

"I actually had a favor to ask of you, Harry."

"Yes, anything," said Harry.

"Would you mind being my best man?"

"Me?" he said in surprise.

"Well, if you don't want —" Lupin backtracked.

"No, of course I want to," interrupted Harry. "I'd be honored to be your best man."

"Great, thanks, Harry," Lupin said with a smile.

"I'm flattered that you would even consider me."

But Harry was also reminded of the loss that Lupin had faced in his life. His closest friends were gone, and one betrayed them. Harry knew that, in a way, he was taking the place of his father and godfather, and it wasn't a duty he took lightly.

They stayed for a while, talking about school, Quidditch, Harry spoke a little about his lessons with Snape, and Lupin detailed as much as he could about his time with the other werewolves. It was like they were trying to find a state of normalcy, but in the back of their minds, the stain of war was constantly reminding them of its presence. Even back at Hogwarts, Harry couldn't help but think how lucky they were not to lose Lupin. It could have just as easily resulted in tragedy. So many people were dying — two more people were mentioned in this morning's paper. Mandy Brocklehurst learned that her father had been killed and Emmeline Vance, who had been a part of the Advance Guard when Harry had first visited Grimmauld Place, had been killed by Death Eaters. Many more were in danger of meeting the same fate. And still, he seemed no closer to defeating Voldemort…

Harry was pulled from his morose thoughts when Ritchie Coote approached him, message in hand. "Thanks, Ritchie." Harry unrolled the parchment hopefully. "It's from Dumbledore!" he said to Ron excitedly. "He wants me in his office as soon as possible!"

They stared at each other.

"Blimey," whispered Ron. "You don't reckon — he hasn't found — ?"

"Better go and see, hadn't I?" said Harry, jumping to his feet.

He hurried out of the common room and ran down the hallway as fast as he could, passing nobody but Peeves, who swooped past in the opposite direction, throwing bits of chalk at Harry and cackling loudly as he dodged Harry's defensive jinx. Once Peeves had vanished, there was silence in the corridors. There were only fifteen minutes left until curfew; most people had already returned to their common rooms.

And then he rounded the corner to Dumbledore's office, where he collided into —

"Professor Trelawney?"

"Oh, hello, Harry," she said a bit huffily.

"You didn't know I was coming?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking with a touch of sarcasm as he helped her up. His stomach did hurt quite a bit — it felt like he had received a sharp elbow to the ribs.

Professor Trelawney haughtily drew herself up and straightened the shawls and many strands of bead about her. "The Inner Eye was fixed upon matters well outside the physical realm of the present."

Harry stared at her. He caught a whiff of alcohol and her words were definitely a little slurred. Taken slightly aback, Harry wasn't sure whether he was prepared for the sight of a drunken Professor.

"What are you doing here, Harry? It is almost curfew."

"I'm…" Harry hesitated. He didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want people to know about his lessons with Dumbledore. He supposed there was no harm in letting a Professor know where he was headed; he didn't have to say what he would be doing. And this way, Professor Dumbledore could vouch for him if she didn't believe him. "I'm going to see Professor Dumbledore."

To Harry's surprise, this seemed to irritate Professor Trelawney. "Oh, so he'll see you, but not a member of his own staff! How outrageous!"

"Er — " Harry said uncomfortably.

"He simply chooses to ignore the warnings that I have foretold. Calamity. Disaster. Coming nearer all the time…"

"Right," Harry said hastily. He had heard Professor Trelawney's predictions all too often before and had no desire to hear any more about them just now. "Well, I really have to —"

"I miss having you in my classes, Harry. You were never much of a Seer… but you were a wonderful Object."

Harry did not reply; he had loathed being the Object of Professor Trelawney's continual predictions of doom.

"I am afraid," she went on, "that the nag — I'm sorry, the centaur — knows nothing of this. I asked him — one Seer to another — had he not, too, sensed the distant vibrations of impending disaster? But he seemed to find me almost comical. Yes, comical!"

Her voice rose rather hysterically and Harry caught a powerful whiff of sherry; evidently she took to letting go of all inhibition in her state of inebriation. Harry had given up on ending the conversation and, not caring whether or not he was being rude, set off for Dumbledore's office. Unfortunately, she followed him like a fly that wouldn't go away, apparently finding a confidant in him.

"Perhaps the horse has heard people say that I have not inherited my great-great-grandmother's gift. Those rumors have been bandied about by the jealous for years. You know what I say to such people, Harry? Would Dumbledore have let me teach at this great school, put so much trust in me all these years, had I not proved myself to him?"

Harry mumbled something indistinct and kept walking.

"I remember my first interview with Dumbledore well," went on Professor Trelawney. "He was deeply impressed, of course, deeply impressed… I was staying at the Hog's Head, which, incidentally, I do not advise — bed bugs, dear boy — but funds were low. Dumbledore did me the courtesy of calling upon me in my room at the inn. He questioned me, and I must confess that, at first, I thought he seemed ill-disposed towards Divination… and I remember I was starting to feel a little odd, I had not eaten much that day… but then…"

And now Harry was paying attention properly for the first time, for he knew what had happened then: Professor Trelawney had made the prophecy that had altered the course of his whole life — the prophecy about him and Voldemort.

"… but then we were rudely interrupted by Severus Snape!"

Harry stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"Yes! There was a commotion outside the door, then it flew open and there was that rather uncouth barman standing with Snape, who was waffling about having come the wrong way up the stairs; although I'm afraid that I myself rather thought he had been apprehended eavesdropping on my interview with Dumbledore — you see, he himself was seeking a job at the time. No doubt he was hoping to pick up tips! Well, after that, unsurprisingly, Dumbledore seemed much more inclined to give me a job. And I could not help thinking, Harry, that it was because he appreciated the stark contrast between my own unassuming manners and quiet talent compared to the pushing, thrusting young man who was prepared to listen at keyholes — Harry, dear?"

She looked back over her shoulder, having only just realized that Harry was no longer with her.

"Harry?" she repeated uncertainly.

But Harry was no longer paying attention to her. As waves of shock crashed over him, he finally understood the ugly truth: It was Snape who had overheard the prophecy. It was Snape who had carried the news of the prophecy to Voldemort. Snape and Peter Pettigrew together had sent Voldemort hunting after Lily and James and their son…

Nothing else mattered to Harry just now. Moving faster now, his mind clear as a bell with anger coursing through him and only one thing on his mind, he strode purposefully towards the guardian gargoyle.

"Harry?" said Professor Trelawney again as he passed her. He didn't register as she harrumphed from the lack of attention. He shouted the password and leapt up the moving staircase, three at a time. He didn't even bother to knock — barging right on through the door.

"Ah, Harry. Just the man I was hoping to speak to."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore was not finished. "I believe I have found another Horcrux."

"Really?" said Harry, forgetting his anger in his excitement. "And I get to go with you this time, too?"

"Yes," answered Dumbledore. "But first, I must warn Minerva and Severus and other members of the Order so that we may leave without raising too much suspicion and to ensure the school's safety."

Dumbledore's last words were lost on Harry, as he abruptly bristled at the mere mention of Snape and suddenly remembered all too well his original purpose for coming to Dumbledore's office uninvited. The hurt and betrayal crashed down upon him forcefully. But he didn't want to jeopardize his chance to go with Dumbledore to hunt down the horcrux because of a sudden outburst. He was torn. This did not go unnoticed by the ever astute Albus Dumbledore, who could sense Harry's inner turmoil. "What is wrong, Harry?" he asked firmly.

"Why do you trust him?" said Harry, the emotions now flooding through.

There was no need to clarify to whom he was referring. "We have already been over this before, Harry, I will not tell you again," Dumbledore replied warily, a hint of impatience in his tone this time.

"What does someone need to do to break your trust?" Harry persisted. "You're brilliant, and so I don't understand this decision of yours to trust him. He has given no reason to trust him, and yet you do so unquestioningly. And if there is a good reason, I don't see why you can't tell me." Harry pressed on. "It doesn't make sense! Things are already dangerous enough without having to watch out for _him_."

"You will just have to trust my judgment on this matter, Harry," Dumbledore quipped shortly. "I do not take such things lightly, and I would not trust Severus unless I had an undeniably valid reason. But I cannot in good conscience divulge such personal matters I have promised to keep private. I am quite aware of the importance of who we see as allies and what is at stake for the Wizarding world, Harry, and cannot help but wonder if you truly believe I would be foolish enough to forget that."

Harry certainly didn't mean to imply that Dumbledore wasn't intelligent or even that he was naïve. But he did seem to be recklessly forgiving and overly generous in his assessment of people. Harry didn't want to make the mistake of blowing up in this office again, but he wouldn't stand for this — he couldn't. "But you make mistakes, you even said so yourself! And no one understands why you trust him, other than that you say he is to be trusted. Well I don't buy it!" Harry needed to force Dumbledore to admit the severity of Snape's transgressions and either find out once and for all this mysterious reason for Snape's exoneration or abjure his innocence. "Tell me why!"

"You believe it is acceptable for you to come in here and make such demands of me?" asked Dumbledore, raising his eyebrows. "I think you are forgetting your place, Harry. I allow much for you, and value your opinion, but do not mistake my receptivity for a concession of command. You have a right to question me, but not to control my actions."

"You lied to me," Harry hit back, "or at least, you never told me it was his fault that my parents are dead! I just found out from Trelawney that he was the one who told Voldemort about the prophecy!"

Silence. Dumbledore seemed somewhat surprised that Harry had come across this information, but quickly recovered. Harry saw hesitation and a little of what looked like sorrow in the old wizard's eyes, but he said nothing.

And then. "You are right, Harry. He did," Dumbledore said solemnly, "But it is the biggest regret of his life and I cannot tell you how truly remorseful he was when he discovered the truth. He was still in Lord Voldemort's service on the night he heard the first half of Professor Trelawney's prophecy. Naturally, he hastened to tell his master what he had heard, for it concerned his master most deeply. But he had no idea who the prophecy concerned. He had no possible way of knowing which boy Voldemort would hunt from then onwards, or that the parents he would destroy in his murderous quest were people that Professor Snape knew — that they were your mother and father. And I can assure you that if he had —"

"Ha!" Harry scoffed. He never interrupted Dumbledore, but this was too much. Surely Dumbledore didn't believe him because Snape said he regretted it? That was completely outrageous. "He hated my father, _hated_ him. And my mother, well, she was just a 'filthy Mudblood.' That's what he called her… And he hates me too without having any reason to do so. He's the reason my parents are dead! It's his fault! It was Voldemort, Pettigrew, _and him!_ And yet you let him stroll through the halls of Hogwarts despite knowing all of this? You let him in my mind! I wouldn't have agreed to take those lessons with him if I had known he was responsible for getting my parents killed — I never would have even agreed to step in the same room with him! How could you? He's no better than a murderer."

"Harry, if you do not trust him, then you do not trust my judgment. You are being blinded by your hatred. And I must say, it is unbecoming of you."

"Oh yeah, that's right." Harry couldn't help himself. "Because loving is what I'm best at, isn't it? Well," Harry mimicked, "you're not really exceptional at anything, Harry, you're just good at loving people."

"Harry," Dumbledore eyes glittered with warning, but his voice remained steadily calm and dangerously quiet. It was too late, Harry had reached a breaking point. Dumbledore's carefully composed voice did anything but calm Harry down. In fact, it rather had the opposite effect. Harry would have preferred Dumbledore to yell at him, to scream at him. He had no business, he had no right, to remain poised and calm as if nothing significant had been brought to attention.

"Maybe I should just love Voldemort to death."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed furiously. "That's enough!"

Harry wasn't sure he had ever seen him this angry. On the rare occasions Harry had seen Dumbledore's temper tested, it was cold and detached, and never directed at him. He might sometimes become impatient and maybe ever so slightly irritable during discussions like these, but never downright furious as he was now. He looked absolutely livid. If Harry hadn't been so angry in his own right, he would have been horrified, or at the very least, chastised for causing the normally calm and serenely composed man such obvious distress.

. *** .

"Hermione? Can I talk to you?"

Hermione had worried that this moment would come, but she was hoping it never would. Of course, she never really expected that their last conversation would be the end of it.

"Please, Hermione." Ron's blue eyes were pleading her, and she didn't have the heart to put off what would undoubtedly be a turbulent conversation. She would eventually have to confront the situation, so she supposed she might as well get it over with as quickly as possible.

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Sit down," she said indicating the seat across from her. She supposed if she truly had wanted to hide, she should have picked a place less predictable than the library — although part of her thought that Ron wouldn't have braved the library even for this. But she hadn't expected him to come barging in at this hour, it was almost curfew.

"I've been thinking…" Ron started after he settled down in his chair. "And I think you should give me another chance."

"Ron…"

"I mean, at least give it another try. And if I mess it up, you can break it off, and I won't bother you about it anymore. Couples work through things like that. It doesn't mean we have to break up."

"Ron," she said in some exasperation, "we only went on one date, and it didn't go very well. We were never really together."

"Because of one bad date? It wasn't even that bad — well, until the end… How could you do this to me?"

"It's not really about the date, Ronald, it's —"

"Then what is it? You just don't like me? I thought you wanted this!" said Ron, his voice beginning to rise in anger.

"I did, but then… I don't know what changed. And of course I like you, Ron. Just not in that way. I love you, as a friend."

"But I'm not good enough for you?"

Hermione wished he wouldn't get so confrontational over this, but she hadn't expected much different. He could be so insecure with himself.

"No. I would never think that. You know that," she said as calmly as circumstances would allow. "You're a great guy, you're funny and loyal and brave. But —"

"Then —"

"Ron, please, don't —"

"I don't understand, Hermione. What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then what —?"

"Ron!" she said in a shushing tone, trying to earn his attention. He finally quieted down enough for Hermione to get a full sentence in.

"First of all, there's nothing wrong with you; I just want you to know that. And… it's not that something is wrong with either of us so much as it is — "

"It's someone else, isn't it?" he said suddenly, his eyes accusatory.

"No, it's not. And it's not anybody's fault." Hermione felt like she was walking on eggshells, trying to figure out what to say next. "There's nothing wrong with you, and there's nothing wrong with me," she said, mirroring Harry's words from earlier. "It's just… us together where something is wrong. I'm not trying to hurt you, Ron. Please, try and understand that. I just — I don't… I can't help how I feel, Ron."

"Well, what can I do? I can change; I can fix it, Hermione." He sounded desperate now.

"Ron, no — "

"I promise, I can," he choked frantically.

"Ron, it's not something you can fix, and I don't want you to change. It's just the way it is. I can't be what you want me to be," said Hermione, on the verge of tears. She hated this, she didn't want to break his heart but it would be unfair for him if she pretended this is what she wanted; it would be unfair to both of them. He deserved so much more. He was always being overshadowed by his family, and now Harry and herself. But he deserved someone who cared about him and thought the world of him. Sure, he had his faults, but everyone did. Ron was a guy with a big heart and a longing for companionship. He had, she knew, a profound need for someone to return his attention and affection as fervently as he gave it. But for some reason, Hermione knew deep in her heart that she was not this person.

"Please, Hermione. Don't do this! I can make things better, I swear I can! Just give me another chance."

"Ron." Hermione had never felt so pitiful in her life. What could she say? Somewhere in the back of her mind, she vaguely wondered why Madame Pince hadn't come to yell at them, yet. Part of her wished that she would.

"Hermione, I think… I-I think I love you."

"Ron, please, no…" she begged, miserably. She thought her own heartbreak was bad when she first saw him and Lavender together. But now she knew what it felt like to break a heart. It was much worse.

Ron lunged at her from across the table and kissed her hard on the mouth. It was not at all like she had imagined it would be back when she still thought about what it might be like to kiss Ron. Hermione pulled away with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Ron. I can't." She ran out of the library — away from Ron. She couldn't stand it anymore.

She ran to the top of the Astronomy tower, in an attempt to escape everything. She didn't care that it was probably past curfew and that, despite the fact that she was a Prefect, she could still get in trouble. She tried to calm herself down and imagine that she was floating among the stars, the way she used to as a young girl. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of the cool air blowing past her face, attempting to simulate the feeling that she was flying. Her father would often find her that way by her bedroom window and sneak up on her and tickle her to surprise her. No one could make her giggle like he did. Hermione tried intently, then desperately to recapture the feeling of losing herself in a fantasy world, where she could unload all of the troubles of the day. But it didn't help this time. It had been so easy when she was a child, in a time when things were so much easier. Why was it so hard now? Opening her eyes, she looked up at the stars and was reminded of how she had always believed that the twinkling lights were a sign of friendly greeting. Now, it just felt like they were mocking her, reveling in a feeling that they knew she couldn't attain — flaunting their unshared delight in a showy display of dazzling light and awesome beauty. Feeling very miserable, all she could think about was Ron and the look of utter devastation that covered his face. Dispirited, she trudged back up to her room, first making absolutely certain that Ron was not in the common room. Lying forlornly on her bed, she tried to distract herself by reading or by doing homework, but nothing could erase the gloom she was feeling inside.

She just couldn't sit still; she felt restless and overwrought with anxiety. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to be alone or not. Harry was at his lesson with Dumbledore, and she didn't really feel like seeing Ginny at the moment. And Ron… well, that was obviously out of the question. Even sitting by the fire in the coziest armchair did nothing to make her feel better; she still felt cold inside. Looking out the window, she saw the castle grounds and suddenly remembered what had happened last night before receiving the news concerning Lupin. How could she have forgotten? After a moment of self-reflection, reproaching herself for her selfishness, Hermione was on the move once again, this time to the hospital wing. She wondered whether Malfoy was still there. She was certain he probably left last night even if it meant sneaking away from Madame Pomfrey, but she just wanted to make sure. He looked absolutely terrible the last time she saw him. It was surreal to witness what Voldemort was capable of in such a direct way. Here she was, wallowing in her own self-pity, when there were others who had to suffer through so much worse. Maybe it was good to remind herself of that. And maybe, just maybe, Malfoy could distract her from the melancholic thoughts that she seemed unable to force out of her head.

She snuck out of the portrait hole and crept her way towards the Hospital Wing. If anyone asked, she would just say she was on Prefect duty. But he wasn't in the Hospital Wing. She wandered the castle to give herself something to do — walking seemed so much more satisfying than sitting at the moment. Ready to give up on her endeavor, it was with surprise that she saw none other than Draco Malfoy himself meandering down the hall towards the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Draco?"

"Granger, what are you doing here?"

"What am I — what are _you_ doing here?" Seriously? Of all the things to ask… Of course she would be here. This _was_ the Gryffindor Tower after all.

"Oh, I'm just getting everything cleared up in the Room of Requirement," he said, sticking his thumb out behind him.

"Oh, so that's where you were going when…" she stopped short. Harry made it clear he wanted no one else to know about the map. Hermione didn't exactly think he would be pleased to find out she'd told Malfoy about it.

"When what? When Potter was following me, trying to figure out what I was doing?"

"Um, yeah," said Hermione. It wasn't far from the truth.

"What are you doing?"

"I was, er, looking for you."

"For me?" asked Draco.

"Yes."

"And why would you do that?" he said as he leaned against the wall.

"Well, I just wanted to check and see… and see how… h-how you were d…"

Hermione was suddenly aware of how close they were. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. Uncomfortable, perhaps? No, that wasn't it, at least not entirely.

Draco on the other hand, was quite aware for some time that he had developed feelings for Granger, the Muggle-born he used to loathe more than almost everyone else. He tried to explain them away to their newfound friendship — that he was only feeling things because they were spending time together and he didn't have anyone else to turn to — but he couldn't deny the warmth he felt knowing that she cared about him, nor the attraction he felt whenever he was around her. And he certainly couldn't deny the tentacles of jealousy that pulled at him when he had learned she went out with the Weasel. But from what he observed and from what he had managed to wrest from Potter, it appeared as though things weren't as peachy between the two longtime friends as she led him to believe.

He took a step closer. Hermione tried to take a step backwards, but somehow, she ended up backed up against the wall.

"Were you worried about me?" he asked softly.

Hermione, for the life of her, couldn't come up with an answer.

Draco reached out with tentative fingers and lightly grazed her cheek. Captivated, he continued to cup her face in his hand, all the while studying her face intensely, as if he were truly seeing her for the first time. Her skin was smooth to the touch, seemingly flawless in his mind. With his thumb, he traced her delicate cheekbone, which curved gracefully upwards to her ears — her ears… as mundane an attribute as the ears might seem, he even had to admire what he saw as her perfectly sized ears. Glancing upwards, he stared into orbs of amber, copper, and gold — a swirl of color far richer than any of those precious stones or metals. And those lips — he couldn't help but stare at them. Her lips looked wonderfully soft and pliable. _Whoa, where did _that_ come from_? he thought to himself. But his body completely oblivious to his brain, he then reached out with his other hand and gently brushed her lips with shaky fingertips. She gasped at his touch and momentarily distracted, Draco's eyes snapped up to meet hers.

His eyes weren't a plain, dull grey as Hermione had always thought, but were a deep, steel color. His iris was outlined with a dark charcoal luster. Now that she was close enough, she could see that his eyes were adorned with radial flecks of silver, reminding her of dew on a crisp early spring's morning. _Oh dear_, she had enough self-awareness left to think, _I am being hopelessly sentimental_. His stormy grey eyes were now almost all covered in black and watching her intently, staring back into her own golden brown ones.

At that moment, neither of them was thinking about the things said or done in the past. They weren't thinking about how they were supposed to hate each other, or how this wasn't supposed to happen.

He leaned in, and she was breathing fast, much too fast. Her face suddenly felt hot and her stomach was doing back-flips… her heart was racing and her mind was wondering why she wasn't pulling back, pulling away… and then it went completely blank. There was a reason she shouldn't be doing this, but she couldn't think of it at the moment. What was happening to her? How was it that he always seemed to be able to reduce her brains to mush? Without realizing what she was doing, her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted ever so slightly…

"Hermione?" It was Ron, and just like that, the moment that both of them had been so deeply immersed in vanished. Hermione and Draco both jerked their heads in Ron's direction. He looked incredulous, furious, betrayed, bewildered…

For some reason, Hermione's immediate thoughts went to the time Ron had told her that no one could feel so many emotions at one time, that they'd explode. Maybe he wasn't wrong after all; Ron looked as if he might do just that at the moment. _What a time for humor, Hermione_, she berated herself. It was by and large, the most uncomfortable situation she ever had to deal with to date, including the time she, as a young teenager, had to tell her father to buy her feminine products during their grocery run, when her mom was out of town. Nor the time when she had inadvertently walked in on her uncle in an uncompromising position with another man during a family Christmas reunion party [1]. Nope, not even close…

. *** .

Harry sincerely hoped he hadn't ruined his chances of going with Dumbledore to find the Horcrux — that he hadn't crossed some line.

"I have already had this argument with you, I do not wish to have it again," Dumbledore said shortly. "We will speak no more of this."

Harry opened his mouth to object, but Dumbledore silenced him with a hand, holding it upright in the air.

"Yes, sir," Harry said sullenly. He stood to leave, he figured he had let his anger get the best of him and blew his chance.

"I suggest you retrieve a warmer cloak than the one you have," Dumbledore told him. "It will be cold where we are going."

Harry turned around in amazement. "You mean I can still go with you?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore with the first hint of a smile.

"Alright," said Harry, who could scarcely believe it. "I'll be right back, then."

"We will be walking out today. Meet me by the Entrance Hall."

"Yes, sir." Harry hesitated. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"What will people think if they see you leaving?" Harry asked.

"That I am off into Hogsmeade for a drink," said Dumbledore lightly. "I sometimes offer Rosmerta my custom, or else visit the Hog's Head… or I appear to. It is as good a way as any of disguising one's true destination."

"Okay, I'll go get a cloak."

"An excellent idea, Harry."

Once out of the office, off of the spiral staircase and past the door-guarding gargoyle, Harry sprinted to the Gryffindor dormitories.

"Harry, what — ?"

But Harry couldn't hear all of Hermione's question as he dashed into his room and ripped open his trunk.

"Harry? What's going on?" asked Ron, sitting up.

"Is everything alright? Is something wrong?" asked Hermione who had apparently followed Harry up.

"Hey, what are _you_ doing up here? This is the boys' dormitory!" said Ron.

"Don't have time… to explain," panted Harry during his search.

"What are you looking for?" Ron asked.

"For Felix," Harry said shortly. He threw out everything looking for the ugly yellow socks that the Dursleys had sent him one Christmas where he stowed the lucky potion. He figured it'd be good to have on hand wherever he and Dumbledore were going.

"Wait, what's going on?" said Hermione.

"I'm going to find… Horcrux."

Hermione gasped.

"Wow," Ron said.

"Ah! I can't find it!" he cried in frustration. "Argh!"

He pulled out his hand which was now covered in blood.

"Stupid mirror!" he shouted, tossing it out with the rest of his belongings. Everything except the Felix Felicis, which he was now beginning to think he lost… he began to panic a little. How could he lose something so valuable? Did Ron steal it?… No… he would never do that. Now, he was just being paranoid.

"Harry, you're bleeding!"

"Wow, thanks, I didn't know."

"Yeah, real helpful, Hermione."

"Shut up!" yelled Harry. He had no idea what was up with Ron and Hermione, and at the moment, he didn't much care.

"Harry! I can see you!"

"What?" Now, that was_ really_ unhelpful. It was this that finally got Harry to halt his frantic search. He looked at her in utter confusion. This wasn't like her. "Of course you can, Hermione, what are you playing at?"

"No, in the mirror."

And now, Harry saw that Hermione was holding a shard of Sirius' mirror that he broke last year. He looked down and saw another piece inside of the trunk. Through the stain of red, he could see Hermione in it. Intriguing, possibly useful, but he didn't time to think about it right now. He didn't want to keep Dumbledore waiting any longer; in fact, he himself didn't want to have to wait any longer, either. He'd have to go without the potion. Dumbledore would be with him, he'd be fine.

"Never mind," he said, grabbing a heavier cloak. "I've got to go. See you later!"

"Wait, Harry!" shouted Hermione, reaching for his bloodied hand.

Harry sighed and allowed Hermione to heal his hand as patiently as he circumstances would permit, and after a quick 'thank you' hastened to leave, dodging questions that both Ron and Hermione were bombarding him with.

Once he arrived at the front doors, Dumbledore was already there waiting for him.

"Here I am, Professor," he said, peeking out of his invisibility cloak.

"Very good. Let us be off, Harry. Before we depart for our destination, I must first go over a few items with you."

"Yes, Professor."

Strolling through the castle grounds on this mild evening, it was difficult to believe that they were heading for anything dangerous or potentially hazardous.

"I take you with me on one condition, that you obey every and any command I might give you instantaneously, without question."

"Of course, sir."

"Be sure to understand me, Harry. I mean that you must follow even such orders as 'run', 'hide' or 'go back'. Do I have your word?"

"I — yes, of course."

"Harry… I need your word," Dumbledore insisted.

"Sir, if you're in trouble, how can I just leave you?" argued Harry.

"Because you must and you will if you want to come with me. It is paramount that you promise me this."

After a long pause Harry said, "Fine."

"If I tell you to hide, you will do so?"

"Yes."

"If I tell you to flee, you will obey?"

"…Yes."

"If I tell you to leave me, and save yourself, you will do as I tell you?"

"I —"

"Harry?"

They looked at each other for a moment.

"With all due respect, sir, I don't know if I can promise that. It's not in my nature, just like it's not in yours. How would I live with myself?"

"Harry —"

"I'm not always going to have people protecting me."

"But for now, if you wish to come, you will give me your word; you will give me your word that you will follow any order I give you."

"Alright," Harry agreed reluctantly. "I understand."

"Good, then we shall continue onward." They walked out of the gates and Dumbledore held out his arm. "Place your hand gently upon my arm, Harry. This time, I am merely going to guide you."

"Ready?" he asked. Harry nodded his head.

The squeezing sensation wasn't nearly as bad this time. The lessons were paying off; he was getting used to Apparating.

The first thing Harry recognized was the smell of salt and the sound of crashing waves. A chilling breeze swept through his hair as he gazed upon the tossing sea illuminated by the light of the moon and the star-strewn sky. The water roared below him, churning foam into the precipice upon which he and Dumbledore stood. There was a cluster of smaller crags of rock surrounding them, as if large chunks of rock had broken away from the cliff face at some point in the past. In the gloom, it was a hauntingly breathtaking sight. It was dark and dangerous, yet mysteriously beautiful; picturesque, yet you knew that it could also be the cause of your demise at any moment.

"What do you think?" asked Dumbledore, as if asking for Harry's opinion on whether or not it was a good site for a picnic.

"Where are we?" asked Harry, taking off his invisibility cloak.

"You'll remember that it was in a cave where young Tom Riddle once terrorized two fellow children from his orphanage?"

"They brought the kids from the orphanage here?" asked Harry, who could not imagine a less suitable spot for a day trip; it wasn't exactly safe for young children.

"Not here, precisely," said Dumbledore. "There is a village nearby that overlooks the ocean. I believe the orphans were taken there for a little fresh air and a view of the waves. No, I think it was only ever Tom Riddle and his youthful victims who visited this spot. No Muggle could reach this rock unless they were uncommonly good mountaineers, and boats cannot approach the cliffs, the waters around them are too dangerous. I suppose if someone were able to land here using a parachute… In any case, imagine that young Riddle navigated his way here with the aid of magic. Taking delight in the suffering of others, he brought along two small children with him. I rather think the journey alone would have done it, don't you? … But his final destination — and ours — lies a little farther on."

"Which Horcrux do you think it is?" asked Harry.

"We cannot be sure, although I think we can safely rule out the snake. Possibly the locket or perhaps the cup of Helga Hufflepuff… Follow me, Harry." Dumbledore lit the end of his wand, and Harry followed by doing the same. "Lumos," he said. In the wandlight, looking down, Harry could see how high up they were. It wasn't terribly high up, but with how shallow the water was around the cliff-island, a fall from this height would prove fatal. He had never exactly been afraid of heights, but he had to quell a sense of vertigo as he looked at the swirling waves below.

They walked down the ledge of the cliff. Soon, they had to mountain climb down the steep wall. The descent was treacherous down the series of jagged hand and footholds of the side of the cliff-face. The rock was wet and slippery, so they moved slowly and carefully. Harry could feel flecks of cold salt spray hitting his face.

They were about five meters up from the water when Dumbledore shouted over the sound of the crashing waves. "You will not object to getting a little wet?" he asked.

"No," Harry shouted back. It was a little too late for that, he thought.

But suddenly, he saw Dumbledore let go of the wall and drop into the ocean below with a splash. Was he serious? Harry blinked to make sure he wasn't seeing things. _Great_, he thought, _well, here goes nothing_. And then he, too, let go of the rock and plunged into the ocean.

He broke the surface, coughing and sputtering. He could see Dumbledore ahead of him, swimming with a perfect breaststroke toward a dark slit in the rock face they just jumped from, his lit wand held in his teeth. Harry was quick to do the same and he clamped his lit wand between his teeth. Freestyling his way through the icy water, Harry's waterlogged clothes billowed around him and weighed him down. Harry looked for the light of Dumbledore's wand to guide him. Up ahead, the fissure soon opened into a dark tunnel that Harry could tell would be filled with water at high tide. It was protected from the elements by a wall of rock that curved towards them, connected to the right side of the opening. The way they came from, from the left of the gap, seemed to be the only way in. Looking back, he saw the cliff they jumped from was completely straight except for the lower ledge on the side where they Apparated. That was the only traversable patch on the large rock structure that Harry could see.

A wave of water splashed into his mouth when he was trying to breathe; he coughed and again looked for the Dumbledore ahead. A little way in, the passageway curved to the left, and Harry saw that it extended far into the cliff. He continued to swim in Dumbledore's wake. The water looked eerie in the soft light and the rough, wet walls glittered like stars.

Then he saw Dumbledore rise out of the water ahead, his silver hair and dark robes gleaming. Clambering up Harry saw that the tunnel led to a large cave. Finally, he reached the now dry Dumbledore, who was inspecting the walls intensely, slowly turning on the spot. Wet, cold and shivering, Harry emulated Dumbledore and charmed his clothes dry.

"This is the place," said Dumbledore.

"How can you be sure?" asked Harry.

"Magic, as you know, leaves traces. This place is full of them," replied Dumbledore. "Sometimes it leaves very distinct traces, and I am familiar with Tom Riddle's particular brand of magic." Dumbledore approached the wall of the cave, sliding his fingertips along its side, murmuring words in a strange tongue that was unrecognizable to Harry. Dumbledore continued his orbit of the perimeter twice more, using this same technique, occasionally pausing, running his fingers over a particular spot. Finally he stopped, and pressed his hand flat against the wall. "Here," he said. "We go on through here. The entrance is concealed." Harry did not ask how Dumbledore knew. He had never seen a wizard work things out like this, simply by looking and touching; but Harry had long since learned that bangs and smoke were more often the marks of ineptitude than expertise. Dumbledore stepped back from the cavern wall and pointed his wand at the rock. For a moment, an arched outline appeared there, blazing white as though there was a powerful light behind the crack.

Harry stared in amazement. "Now what?" he asked.

But Dumbledore was turned his attention back to the solid cave wall. He did not try any more magic, but simply stood there staring at it intently, as though something extremely interesting was written on it. Harry stayed quite still; he did not want to break Dumbledore's concentration. Then, after a few minutes, Dumbledore said quietly, "Oh, surely not…so crude."

"What is it, Professor?"

"I believe," said Dumbledore, drawing a short silver knife from inside his robes, "that we are required to give payment in order to pass."

"Payment?" said Harry. "What sort of payment?"

"Blood, if I am not much mistaken."

"Blood?" Harry asked askance.

"I said it was crude," said Dumbledore, who sounded disdainful, even disappointed, as though Voldemort had fallen short of higher standards Dumbledore expected. "The idea is that your enemy must weaken him or herself to enter. Once again, Lord Voldemort fails to grasp that there are much more terrible things than physical injury."

"Professor!" protested Harry, hurrying forward as Dumbledore raised the knife to his now exposed forearm. "I'll do it, I'm —" He did not know what he was going to say — younger, fitter?

But Dumbledore merely smiled. There was a flash of silver and a spurt of scarlet, which peppered the rock face with dark, glistening drops.

"You are very kind, Harry," said Dumbledore, who was now passing the tip of his wand over the deep cut he had made in his own arm, healing it instantly — much like Snape had healed Malfoy's wounds. "But your blood is worth more than mine, I'm afraid. Ah, that seems to have done the trick, hasn't it?" The blazing silver outline of an arch had appeared in the wall once more, and this time it did not fade away; the blood-spattered rock within it simply vanished, leaving an opening into total darkness. "After me, I think," said Dumbledore, and he walked through the archway with Harry tight on his heels.

What came into view was nothing like what Harry expected. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but this was probably not one of them. They were standing on the edge of a sizable lake. It was dark, but Harry could not see the bank on the opposite side of the lake. The cavern towered above them like an enormous cathedral, making him feel small.

Away in the distance was a murky, greenish light which looked to be in the very middle of the unnaturally circular lake. The eerie green glow was reflected in the still water below. But the light was strangely subdued, as if the thick darkness was somehow denser than it normally would be.

"Be very careful not to step into the water," said Dumbledore quietly. "And whatever you do, stay close to me." He set off around the edge of the lake, and Harry followed close behind him. The echoes from their footsteps, too, seemed uncharacteristically smothered, even though the cave was empty excepting the two of them. Harry was not claustrophobic, but he found the place oppressive and unnerving.

"Professor?" he said finally, taking care to keep his voice quiet despite the lack of other people. "If the Horcrux is here couldn't we try Summoning it? I know there might be protections against it but —"

"— There is certainly no harm in trying," said Dumbledore, stopping so suddenly that Harry almost walked into him. "Why don't you do the honors?"

"Me? Okay." Harry had not expected this, but cleared his throat and held his wand aloft and cried, "Accio Horcrux!"

With a sudden outburst of sound, something large and pale erupted out of the dark water a short distance away. Before Harry could see what it was, it vanished again with a great splash, leaving behind deep ripples on the mirrored surface. But these, too, in a recurring pattern, vanished much too suddenly in Harry's opinion. He leapt backward in shock, hitting the wall, his heart thundering.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Something, I think, that is ready to respond should we attempt to seize the Horcrux."

Harry looked back at the water. The surface of the lake was once more shining black glass.

"Were you trying to test the defenses, sir?"

"I certainly thought something would happen if we made an obvious attempt to get our hands on the Horcrux. That was a very good idea, Harry — the simplest way of discovering what we are facing."

"Did you see what it was?" asked Harry, looking once again at the disturbingly smooth water.

"Whatever it was, I am sure there are more of them."

_Great_, thought Harry. "Do you think we will we have to enter the lake?" he asked with some trepidation. He was more eager to be out of this place than he'd ever like to admit.

"Only if we are very unfortunate," answered Dumbledore.

"How are we going to get to the green light in the middle? I'm assuming that's where we're headed."

"Yes, I believe so. But I do not think it will be necessary to swim. I am sure that whoever left whatever there is to find here will have left a way to return and recover that same object."

"Too bad I didn't bring my Firebolt," Harry said wryly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "You certainly do have a knack for flying."

"Aha," said Dumbledore, stopping again. This time, Harry really did walk into him; for a moment he toppled on the edge of the dark water, then Dumbledore reached out to steady him. "So sorry, Harry, I should have given a warning. Stand back against the wall, please; I think I have found the place."

Harry had no idea what Dumbledore was talking about — this patch of dark bank was exactly like every other patch as far as he could tell, but Dumbledore seemed to have detected something special about it. This time he was running his hand, not over the rocky wall, but through the air.

"There we are," said Dumbledore, closing his hand in midair upon some invisible object. Keeping his hand clenched in midair, Dumbledore raised his wand with the other and tapped his fist with the point.

Suddenly, a metal chain covered with a green mucous coating appeared in Dumbledore's clenched hand. Dumbledore tapped the chain with his wand, and the chain then began to slide towards them, coiling itself on the ground like a snake. A clinking sound resonated off of the walls and then, from the depths, Harry could detect something emerging towards them. Then, with a small rush of water, the prow of a small boat surfaced and settled upon the bank with a gentle bump.

"How did you know it was there?"Harry asked in astonishment. "Did it have magical traces, too?"

"Indeed it did," said Dumbledore.

"Is… is the boat safe?"

"Oh yes, I think so. Voldemort needed to create a means to cross the lake without attracting the wrath of those creatures he had placed within it in case he ever wanted to visit or remove his Horcrux."

"So they won't disturb us if we're inside the boat?" asked Harry.

"I think we must resign ourselves to the fact that they will, at some point, realize we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well. They have allowed us to raise the boat."

"But why? I would have expected more traps."

"Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that none but a very great wizard would have been able to find this boat," said Dumbledore. "I think he would have been prepared to risk what was, to his mind, the most unlikely possibility that somebody else would find it, knowing that he had set other obstacles ahead that only he would be able to penetrate. We shall see whether or not he was right."

Harry looked down into the diminutive boat. "It doesn't look like it was built for two people. Do you think it can hold the both of us?"

"I believe the restriction is based on the amount of magical power rather than weight. You are underage, so I do not think that you will be accounted for. I'm sure Voldemort did not think anyone still in school would be able to reach this place. But that is Voldemort's mistake. As you have already proven, you are a very capable wizard. Now if you will, Harry, step aboard."

Harry climbed in carefully, and Dumbledore stepped in after him. It was not comfortable, but they were both able to fit inside. Once Dumbledore was inside, the boat moved at once.

The only sound present was the smooth rush of the boat's prow cleaving the water — cutting through it like a hot knife through butter. The boat moved of its own accord, as if an invisible rope was pulling them forward. The water looked like glassy black stone… And then Harry saw it, marble white, floating inches below the surface.

"Professor!" His startled voice echoed over the silent water.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I think I saw a hand in the water — a human hand!"

"Yes, I am sure you did," said Dumbledore calmly.

Harry stared down into the water, looking for it, a sick feeling rose in his throat. He knew what they must be. He didn't want or ever think he'd really encounter them. He tried to think of anything useful the Ministry pamphlets said about them.

"So, inside the lake… those are — ?"

But Harry had his answer before he could finish his question. The wandlight passed over the water and, this time, revealed a dead man lying face-up. The nameless man's open eyes were hazy and unseeing, his hair floated about him like vapor.

"Yes," answered Dumbledore, "they are Inferi, but we do not need to worry about them at the moment."

"So, we don't need to worry about them now?" Harry repeated disbelieving, tearing his gaze from the water to look at Dumbledore. _Then when?_

"Not while they are merely drifting peacefully below us," said Dumbledore. "There is nothing to be feared from a body, Harry, any more than there is anything to be feared from the darkness. Lord Voldemort, who of course secretly fears both, disagrees. But once again he reveals his own lack of wisdom. It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more." Harry said nothing; he did not want to argue, but he found it disturbing that there were dead bodies floating all around them.

"Maybe," Harry conceded. "But bodies should be laid to rest, not enlisted to do Voldemort's dirty work. Maybe those people don't know any better, but that still doesn't make it alright," said Harry in disgust.

"Oh, I agree with you, of course. It is a truly perverted and most distasteful thing to do. I was merely commenting on the irrational fears that many people seem to possess. Conquering those fears help us live in the now, instead of worrying about the future."

Harry knew that everyone died, but that didn't mean gazing upon a dead body wasn't extremely disconcerting. He didn't think it had anything to do with his own fears, either. People should be seen happy and full of life, not limp and soulless and mutilated.

But he didn't voice this aloud, saying instead, "What will happen if we get the Horcrux?"

"Then I am sure we shall find them less docile. However, like many creatures that dwell in cold and darkness, they fear light and warmth, which we shall therefore call to our aid should the need arise."

Harry thought back to the time in his first year (it seemed so long ago) when he, Ron and Hermione struggled to escape the clutches of the Devil's Snare to get to the Sorcerer's Stone. Snape had been on their side then… He also remembered Ron's agitation when Hermione bemoaned their lack of wood. Even scared as he was, the thought lightened his mood considerably.

"Fire?" asked Harry.

"Yes, very good, Harry."

"We're nearly there," Dumbledore said.

Sure enough, the greenish light seemed to be growing larger at last, and within minutes, the boat came to a halt. Raising his illuminated wand, Harry saw that they had reached a small island of smooth rock in the center of the lake. They both disembarked the uncomfortable dinghy, careful not to touch the water.

The island was no larger than Dumbledore's office, an expanse of flat dark stone upon which nothing stood but the source of that greenish light, which looked much brighter when viewed close by. Squinting through the darkness, Harry saw that the light was coming from a stone basin rather like the Pensieve. Dumbledore approached the basin which was set on the top of a pedestal. Harry followed. Side by side, they looked down into it. The basin was full of a phosphorescent emerald liquid.

"What is it?" Harry asked quietly.

"I am not sure," said Dumbledore. "Something more worrisome than blood and bodies, I think." Dumbledore rolled back his sleeve and reached towards the green concoction, whatever it was — with the tips of his fingers.

"Wait — !" Harry tried to warn. But Dumbledore's fingers stopped short.

"I cannot touch," said Dumbledore, smiling faintly. "See? I physically cannot approach any nearer than this. You try."

Staring, Harry put his hand into the basin and attempted to touch the potion. He met an invisible barrier that prevented him coming within an inch of it. No matter how hard he pushed, his fingers encountered nothing but a solid, albeit invisible, layer.

Dumbledore made complicated movements with his wand over the surface of the potion, murmuring words so softly that Harry couldn't hear what they were. Nothing happened in response, except perhaps that the potion glowed a little brighter once or twice. Harry remained silent while Dumbledore worked. After a few more minutes Dumbledore withdrew his wand and Harry felt it was safe to talk again.

"You think the Horcrux is in there, Professor?"

"Oh yes." Dumbledore peered more closely into the basin. "But how to reach it? This potion cannot be penetrated by hand, siphoned away, nor Vanished, nor Transfiugred… nor otherwise be forced to change its nature." Almost absentmindedly, Dumbledore raised his wand again, twirled it once in midair, and then caught the crystal goblet that he had conjured out of nowhere. "I can only conclude that this potion is supposed to be drunk."

"What?" said Harry. "No!"

"Yes, I think so. Only by drinking it can I empty the basin and see what lies within its depths."

"But what if it's poison?"

"Oh, I doubt that it would work like that," said Dumbledore easily. "Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island." Harry couldn't believe it. Surely, not? Was this more of Dumbledore's insane determination to see good in everyone?

He stared at Dumbledore in bewilderment.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I should have said, he would not wish to immediately kill the person who reached this island," Dumbledore corrected himself. "He would want to keep them alive long enough to find out how they managed to penetrate so far through his defenses and, most importantly of all, why they were so intent upon emptying the basin. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes."

Harry made to speak again, but this time Dumbledore raised his hand for silence, frowning slightly at the emerald liquid, evidently thinking hard.

"Undoubtedly," he said, finally, "this potion must act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. For instance, it might paralyze me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain that I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way. This being the case, Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand?"

Their eyes met over the basin, lighting each of their faces with that strange, green light. Harry said not a word. Was this why he had been invited along — so that he could force-feed Dumbledore a potion that might cause him unendurable pain?

"You remember," said Dumbledore, "the condition on which I brought you with me?"

Harry hesitated, looking into the blue eyes that had turned green in the reflected light of the basin.

"But what if —?"

"You swore, did you not, to follow any command I gave you?"

"Yes, but —"

"I warned you, did I not, that there might be danger?"

"Yes," said Harry, "but —"

"Well, then," said Dumbledore, shaking back his sleeves once more and raising the empty goblet, "you have my orders."

"This is insane!"

"The what do you suggest we do? We must get the Horcrux if we can. If you have another idea, I would be glad to hear it."

There was a long pause.

"Why can't I drink the potion instead?" asked Harry desperately.

"Because I am much older and less valuable," said Dumbledore. "Once and for all, Harry, do I have your word that you will do all in your power to make me keep drinking?"

"Couldn't I — ?"

"Do I have it?"

"But —"

"Your word, Harry."

"I — all right, but—"

Before Harry could make any further protest, Dumbledore lowered the crystal goblet into the potion. For a split second, Harry hoped that he would not be able to touch the potion with the goblet, but the crystal sank into the surface as nothing else had; when the glass was full to the brim, Dumbledore lifted it to his mouth. "To your good health, Harry."

And he drained the goblet. Harry watched, terrified, his hands gripping the rim of the basin so hard that his fingertips went numb.

"Professor?" he said anxiously, as Dumbledore lowered the empty glass. "How do you feel?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his eyes closed. Harry wondered whether he was in pain. Dumbledore plunged the glass blindly back into the basin, refilled it, and drank once more.

In silence, Dumbledore drank three goblets full of the potion. Then, halfway through the fourth goblet, he staggered and fell forward against the basin. His eyes were still closed, and he was breathing heavily.

"Professor Dumbledore?"asked Harry in uncertainty, his voice strained. "Are you alright?"

Dumbledore did not answer. His face was twitching as one who was experiencing horrible nightmare would. His grip on the goblet was slackening; the potion was about to spill forth. Harry reached forward and grasped the crystal cup, holding it steady. "Professor, can you hear me?" he repeated loudly, his voice echoing around the cavern.

Dumbledore panted and then spoke in a voice Harry did not recognize, for he had never heard Dumbledore frightened like this.

"I don't want… Don't make me…"

Harry stared into the whitened face he knew so well, at the crooked nose and half-moon spectacles. He did not know what to do.

"…don't like… want to stop…" moaned Dumbledore.

"You… you can't stop, Professor," said Harry. "You've got to keep drinking, remember? You told me you had to keep drinking. Here…" Hating himself, repulsed by what he was doing, Harry forced the goblet back toward Dumbledore's mouth and tipped it, so that Dumbledore drank the remainder of the potion inside.

"No…" Dumbledore groaned, as Harry lowered the goblet back into the basin and refilled it for him. "I don't want to.… I don't want to… Let me go…"

Harry had felt the pangs of fear when looked upon the dead but now, sheer terror had a vise-like grip on his being.

"It's all right, Professor," said Harry, his hand shaking. "It's alright, I'm here —"

"Make it stop, make it stop," cried Dumbledore.

"Yes… yes, this'll make it stop," lied Harry. He tipped the contents of the goblet into Dumbledore's open mouth. Dumbledore screamed; the noise echoed all around the vast chamber, across the dead black water.

"No, no, no… I can't, I won't, don't make me — I don't want to…"

"It's alright, Professor, it's okay!"

His hands were shaking so badly he could hardly scoop up the sixth goblet of potion; the basin was now half empty. "Nothing's happening to you, you're safe, it isn't real, I swear it isn't real — take this, now, take this…" And obediently, Dumbledore drank, as though Harry was offering him the waters of life, but upon draining the goblet, he sank to his knees, trembling uncontrollably.

"It's my fault, all my fault," he sobbed. "I'm sorry… Please, make it stop. Make it stop!…"

"This will make it stop, Professor," Harry said, his voice cracking as he tipped the seventh glass of potion into Dumbledore's mouth.

Dumbledore began to cower as though invisible torturers surrounded him; his flailing hand almost knocked the refilled goblet from Harry's trembling hands as he moaned, "Don't hurt them, no, don't hurt them. Please… it's my fault, hurt me instead…"

"Here, drink this, it'll make you better," said Harry desperately, and once again Dumbledore obeyed him, opening his mouth even as he kept his eyes tight shut and shook from head to foot. And now he fell forward, crying out again, while Harry filled the ninth goblet.

"Please, please, no…no, not that… I'll do anything…"

"Just drink, Professor, just drink…"

Dumbledore drank like a child dying of thirst, but when he had finished, he yelled again as though his insides were on fire. "No more, please, no more…"

Harry scooped up a tenth goblet full of potion and felt the crystal scrape the bottom of the basin. "We're nearly there, Professor. Drink this, drink it…"

He supported Dumbledore's shoulders and again, Dumbledore drained the glass; then Harry was on his feet once more, refilling the goblet as Dumbledore began to scream in more anguish than ever, "I want to die! I want to die. Make it stop! I can't…"

"Drink this, Professor. Drink this…"

Dumbledore drank, and no sooner had he finished than he yelled, "Argh! Just kill me!"

"This — this one will!" gasped Harry, hoping against hope that it wasn't true. "Just drink this… It'll be over… all over!"Dumbledore gulped at the goblet and drained every last drop. Then, with a great, rattling gasp, he rolled over onto his front-side.

"No!" shouted Harry, who had stood to refill the goblet again; instead he dropped the cup into the basin, flung himself down beside Dumbledore, and heaved him over onto his back. Under skewed glasses, Dumbledore's eyes were closed; his mouth was agape. "No," said Harry again, shaking Dumbledore, "No, you're not dead — you said it wasn't poison…Wake up. Wake up! Rennervate!" he cried, his wand pointing at Dumbledore's chest. There was a flash of red light but nothing happened. "Rennervate — please — Professor —"

Harry was frightened, even more frightened than he was of the army of enchanted dead bodies.

Slowly, Dumbledore's eyes flickered open, and Harry's heart leapt. "Professor — ?"

"Water," croaked Dumbledore.

"Water," panted Harry. "Okay —" He leapt to his feet and seized the goblet he had dropped in the basin; he barely registered the golden locket lying curled beneath it.

"Aguamenti!" he shouted, jabbing at the goblet with his wand. The goblet filled with clear water; Harry dropped to his knees beside Dumbledore, raised his head, and brought the glass to his lips — but it was empty. Dumbledore groaned and began to pant. "But I had some — wait — Aguamenti!" said Harry again, pointing his wand at the goblet. Once more, for a second, clear water gleamed within it, but as he approached Dumbledore's mouth, the water vanished again. "Sir, I'm trying, I'm trying!" said Harry desperately, but he did not think that Dumbledore could hear him; he had rolled onto his side and was drawing great, rattling breaths that sounded agonizing. "Aguamenti — AGUAMENTI!"

The goblet filled and emptied once more. And now Dumbledore's breathing was fading. His brain whirling in panic, Harry knew, instinctively, the only way left to get water, because Voldemort had planned it so… He flung himself over to the edge of the rock and plunged the goblet into the lake, bringing it up full to the brim of icy water that did not vanish. "Sir —

Dumbledore's eyelids flickered, and Harry's heart leapt again; he lifted the goblet to Dumbledore's mouth.

"Here…"

Dumbledore heaved in another desperate, rasping gulp of air.

He tipped only a small mouthful into Dumbledore's mouth with shaky hands. Then he spilled the water clumsily over Dumbledore's face.

But this was not due to his unsteady hands, for the icy feeling on his arm was not the lingering chill of the water. A slimy white hand had gripped his wrist, and the creature to which it belonged was pulling him, slowly, backward across the rock. The surface of the lake was no longer mirror-smooth; it was churning like boiling water, and everywhere Harry looked, pale heads and hands were emerging from the dark water. Men, women and children with sunken, sightless eyes were moving toward the rock: an army of the dead rising from the black water.

"Petrificus Totalus!" yelled Harry, struggling to cling to the smooth, soaked surface of the island as he pointed his wand at the Inferius that had his arm. It released him, falling backward into the water with a splash. Harry scrambled to his feet, but already, several Inferi were climbing onto the rock, their bony hands clawing at its slippery surface. It was truly disconcerting, not only because they were dead, but because their eyes were blank, unseeing, and utterly emotionless.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry bellowed again, backing away as he swiped his wand through the air; six or seven of them crumpled, but more were coming toward him. "Impedimenta! Incarcerous!" A few of them stumbled, one or two of them bound in ropes, but those climbing onto the rock behind them merely stepped over or on the fallen bodies. Still slashing at the air with his wand he screamed, "Sectumsempra! SECTUMSEMPRA!" But though gashes appeared in their sodden skin, they had no blood to spill: They walked on, unfeeling, their shrunken hands outstretched toward him. As he backed away, he knew that he was doing something wrong. What was he forgetting? Oh, yes. "Incendio!" Harry shouted. Fire. How could he have forgotten fire? He internally berated his panicked mind. He swirled it about him like a madman. But the numbers were sure to overwhelm him. He went to Dumbledore, who was lying on the ground. Harry wrapped his arms around him and tried to Apparate them out, but to no avail. Voldemort had obviously protected against people escaping. So Harry stood over Dumbledore's body, fighting off the relentless army of the dead.

The fire kept most of them at bay, but he couldn't protect all three-hundred and sixty degrees around him at all times. For several minutes, he fought to keep the monsters at arm's length. But he couldn't keep this up forever; his limps were becoming heavy and his breath, labored. Then, he felt arms enclose him from behind: thin, fleshy arms as cold as death. His feet left the ground as they lifted him and began to carry him, slowly and surely back to the water, where he knew there would be no release. He would be drowned and become one more lifeless guardian of a fragment of Voldemort's shattered soul…

_No!_ The very thought stoked him, and he swept out wildly with his wand. "Incendio!"

He fell to the ground, falling on his head. There was a flash of white and as he scrambled up on some survival instinct, he stumbled dizzily, trying to discern his enemies with fuzzy eyes. He saw an indistinct blur of black, white and yellow. He again slashed out blindly, trying desperately to hang on to survival. He punched wildly at one of the Inferi to get it off.

But then, through the chaos, came an enormous flash of crimson and gold. The slimy hand that had been grasping his shoulder suddenly disappeared. Harry blearily blinked his eyes back into focus. Eventually, he saw a ring of fire that surrounded the rock. There was a high wall of flames; the Inferi did not dare pass through them.

Harry wheeled around, Dumbledore was on his feet again, pale as any of the surrounding Inferi, but taller than any, too. The fire danced in his eyes, and his wand was raised like a torch. From its tip emanated the flames, like a massive lasso, encircling them all with warmth. Harry also sensed a different kind of fire in Dumbledore's eyes. The Inferi bumped into each other, attempting, blindly, to escape the fire in which they were enclosed…

Dumbledore scooped the locket from the bottom of the stone basin and stowed it inside his robes. Wordlessly, he gestured to Harry to come to his side. Distracted by the flames, the Inferi seemed unaware that their quarry was leaving as Dumbledore led Harry back to the boat, the ring of fire moving with them. Around them, the dazed Inferi accompanied them to the water's edge, where they slipped gratefully back into their dark waters.

"I am weak…" said Dumbledore.

"Don't worry, sir," Harry said at once, anxious about Dumbledore's extreme pallor and by his air of exhaustion. "Don't worry; I'll get us back… Lean on me, Professor…"

Harry, who was shivering mightily (not from the cold) thought for a moment that Dumbledore might not be able to climb into the boat; he staggered a little as he attempted it; all his efforts seemed to be going into maintaining the ring of protective flame around them. Harry seized him and helped him back to his seat. Once they were both safely jammed inside again, the boat began to move back across the black water, away from the rock, still encircled by that ring of fire. It appeared as though the Inferi swarming below them did not dare resurface.

"I'm sorry," panted Harry, "I tried to fend them off, but there were too many of them. I used fire but it wasn't enough, I should've —"

"You were excellent, Harry," murmured Dumbledore. Harry was alarmed to hear how faint his voice was.

They reached the bank with a bump and Harry leapt out, then turned quickly to help Dumbledore. The moment that Dumbledore reached the bank he let his wand hand fall; the ring of fire vanished, but the Inferi did not emerge again from the water. The little boat sank into the water once more; clanking and tinkling, its chain slithering back into the depths with it. Dumbledore gave a weak moan and leaned against the cavern wall. The locket had slipped from his slack hand, so Harry stooped to pick it up and slipped it inside his pocket.

Pulling Dumbledore's arm around his shoulders, Harry guided his headmaster back around the lake, bearing most of his weight.

"The protection was… after all… well-designed," said Dumbledore faintly. "One alone could not have done it… You did well, Harry, very well…"

"Don't talk now," said Harry, noting with dread how slurred Dumbledore's voice had become, how much his feet dragged. "Save your energy, sir… We'll be out of here soon…"

"The archway will have sealed again… My knife…"

"There's no need, I got cut on the rock when I fell," said Harry firmly. "Just tell me where…"

"Here…" said Dumbledore, pointing feebly towards a spot on the rock.

Harry wiped his grazed forearm upon the stone: having received its tribute of blood, the archway reopened instantly. They crossed the outer cave, and Harry helped Dumbledore back into the icy seawater that filled the crevice in the cliff.

"It's going to be alright, Professor," Harry said over and over again, more worried by Dumbledore's silence than he had been by his weakened voice. "We're nearly there.… I can Apparate us both back… Don't worry…"

"I am not worried, Harry," said Dumbledore, his voice a little stronger despite the freezing water. "I am with you."

Once back under the open, fresh starry sky, Harry heaved Dumbledore on to the top of the nearest boulder and then to his feet. Sodden and shivering, and with Dumbledore's weight still upon him, Harry concentrated harder than he had ever done upon his destination: Hogsmeade. Closing his eyes and gripping Dumbledore's arm as tightly as he could, he spun into that feeling of intense compression.

He knew it had worked before he opened his eyes. The smell of salt, the sea breeze, the sound of the crashing waves… all had disappeared. He and Dumbledore were shivering and dripping in the middle of the dark High Street in Hogsmeade. For one horrible moment Harry's imagination showed him more Inferi creeping towards him from around the sides of shops, but he blinked and saw that nothing was stirring; all was still, the darkness complete but for a few streetlamps and lit upper windows.

Harry performed drying spells on first Dumbledore, and then himself. "We did it, Professor!" Harry whispered with difficulty; he suddenly realized that he had a searing stitch in his chest. "We did it! We got the Horcrux!"

Dumbledore staggered against him. For a moment, Harry thought that his inexpert Apparition had thrown Dumbledore off-balance; then he saw his face, paler and damper than ever in the distant light of a streetlamp.

"Sir, are you alright?"

"I've been better," said Dumbledore weakly, though the corners of his mouth twitched. "That potion… was no health drink…"

And to Harry's horror, Dumbledore sank on to the ground.

"Professor — it's okay… You're going to be fine, don't worry —"

Harry looked around desperately for help, but there was nobody to be seen. All he could think was that he must somehow get Dumbledore to the hospital wing. And quickly.

"We need to get you up to the school, sir… Madam Pomfrey…"

"No," said Dumbledore. "It is… Professor Snape that I need… but I do not think… I can walk very far just yet…"

"Right… Listen — I'm going to knock on a door, find a place you can stay — then I can run and get someone —"

"Severus," said Dumbledore clearly. "I need Severus…"

"All right then, Snape — but I'm going to have to leave you for a moment, so I can get him."

Dumbledore nodded, not finding the strength to speak. Every moment that passed, Harry's concern for the older wizard grew.

He looked around again. The only place he saw open was the Hog's Head. Harry was reluctant to leave him there thinking of the sort of company that usually stayed there, but he had no other choice; it was better than leaving him out here in the open. "If you don't mind, you'll have to stay at the Hog's Head while I go get him. It's not —"

"That's fine," Dumbledore interjected.

"Okay…"

Harry helped him over as quickly as he could. The old bartender didn't seem very pleased. But Harry made him promise that he'd take care of Dumbledore.

"Do you need anything else, sir?"

"No, Harry, just Sev — "

"Okay, I'll be right back." He paused for a second, looking at the two bearded men. For some reason, he got a feeling that he couldn't quite place. Harry shook his head again; he didn't have time for this. "Alright." Once outside, he ran as fast as he could to the gates where Filch usually stood. Feeling extremely fatigued, he nevertheless went as fast as his feet could take him. Remembering how Tonks and Kingsley once sent messages in times of distress, Harry shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

But, all that emanated from his wand was silver smoke. The encounter with the Inferi and everything else that happened in the cave left him more shaken then he had first realized. _Think, Harry, think. Dumbledore… he's going to be fine; He's going to be alright._ "Expecto Patronum!" This time, the stag burst from the tip of his wand; it galloped beside him. He wasn't sure what to do, but told it, "Find Snape. Tell him Dumbledore's in trouble. Guide him this way, towards Hogsmeade." He sincerely hoped it worked. With Dumbledore's deteriorating condition, and with the speed it seemed to be doing so, every little bit counted. Time was not on their side.

His silver stag sped off at his command, running more and more ahead of him until all Harry could see was a tiny silver speck, and then, nothing.

By the time he reached the gates, Snape was already there, running towards him. Harry still harbored ill thoughts toward the man, but all of his energy was focused on saving Dumbledore. Everything else could wait until later. He just needed Snape to come and help Dumbledore.

"I got your Patronus," said Snape. "You said something is wrong with the Headmaster?"

Good, his Patronus message had worked. "Yes."

"Anything more specific, Potter?" asked Snape.

"It's difficult to explain. It'd be easier if you just took a look at him. I'll explain there." He also wasn't sure how much of their adventure Harry was allowed to divulge.

"Where were the two of you?" questioned Snape.

"I-I can't tell you that, sir." Harry hoped Snape would believe him and that the urgency of the situation would cause him not to get angry.

Snape worked his jaw, and Harry could tell he was not happy with his response. But he apparently decided the overlook this for now, for which Harry was extremely glad.

"Where is he?"

"He's at the Hog's Head."

Snape did not ask for an explanation; he began to sprint towards the old inn and Harry chased after him. Once they arrived at the inn, it was to see Dumbledore looking worse for wear. He was leaning heavily against the back of the booth he was sitting in. The old barman had given him some water and backed away as the two of them entered the bar.

Snape sat next to Dumbledore, inspecting him closely. "Headmaster, what is the matter?"

"Oh, I merely drank an unidentified potion — the likes of which…" he struggled to talk, "have… reduced me to this abysmal state."

"And why would you drink such a potion?" said Snape quietly. If Harry didn't know better, Snape was scolding the Headmaster.

"It was necessary."

Snape, deciding time was of the essence, moved on. "What kind of potion was it?"

Dumbledore seemed to be struggling to talk, so Harry spoke for him.

"He seemed… afraid, sir. The potion made him scared. And he was… talking to people that weren't there. He also appeared to be in a lot of pain — he talked about wanting to die… It also made him very thirsty; it was green and had a weird glow about it."

Snape mumbled something under his breath.

"What?"

Snape turned slowly and considered him carefully. "The Drink of Despair… Very few have actually heard of it and even fewer know how to make it…"

Dumbledore nodded his head in affirmation.

"How did you come across such a rare potion, and why did the Headmaster drink it?" Snape's dark eyes bored into Harry's own searching for answers, and Harry threw up his wall of mental defenses automatically. "If I'm not mistaken," Snape continued, "it is difficult — nigh on impossible to consume the potion in its entirety. Did he drink all of the potion?"

"Yes," Harry answered quietly, averting his eyes. He did not particularly want to tell Snape he had force-fed his own Headmaster with a potion that caused excruciating pain and terror to the drinker. He could feel Snape's eyes on him.

"Severus…"

Both Harry and Snape turned quickly to look at Dumbledore.

"Please," he said weakly, "not just now. Now is not the time… for talking."

"Of course not, Headmaster. We should get him up to my office," he said, now speaking directly to Harry. "We must try to avoid being seen at all costs."

Harry nodded. He still held great bitterness for the man, but he appreciated Snape's no-nonsense, business-like manner at a time like this.

"Is there an antidote?" Harry asked as he helped Snape get Dumbledore on his feet and the old barman was grumbling about something to do with pesky visitors. The odd trio shuffled awkwardly outside the door and onto the red brick street.

Snape paused for a moment before saying, "None that are known at the present time. But the potion is not supposed to be fatal. I've never known anyone to have come in contact with this potion. My guess it will take him some time to recover. He must rest. I will do whatever is necessary to aid him during this recovery process. I have a few tonics that may help," he said as they walked swiftly towards the Hogsmeade gates.

The two of them were able to get Dumbledore up to Snape's rooms. Harry was grateful they didn't have to walk all the way up to the Headmaster's tower. Harry watched as Snape went into his storerooms and retrieved an assortment of vials containing different colored liquids. Dumbledore lay on an austere black sofa in Snape's quarters. Harry wished that Snape could have something a bit more comfortable for Dumbledore to sleep on. He stood nearby and kept watch helplessly.

"Is there anything I can do?" Harry offered.

"No, not right now, at any rate," answered Snape. "The only thing for you to do right now is to go back to your rooms and wait. Do not tell anyone where you have been." There was no bite in his words, only concern in his eyes that even he could not conceal, and Harry had to wonder, _How bad is this potion?_

"No, Professor," he agreed.

"Goodnight, Professor," said Harry, speaking to Dumbledore now. Harry had always known that Dumbledore was getting up there in years, but he never considered him old — but that was exactly what he looked like now: a very old and very tired elderly man. Dumbledore didn't answer, but Harry thought he saw his eyes glitter just a little bit, and crinkle slightly in a weary smile.

Turning and exiting Snape's quarters, he trudged his way up to the Gryffindor common room. He heard a clink and it echoed through the empty hallway. Stopping, he reached into his pocket and felt cool metal. The locket… He had completely forgotten about the Horcrux. But they had found it, at last! He forgot to give it back to Dumbledore, but it probably wouldn't have been a smart idea with Snape around, anyway. He thought of Dumbledore, and how weakened and truly frail he seemed; seeing the normally robust and formidable wizard in such a state placed more fear in Harry's heart than any of the Inferi.

They had found the Horcrux, but at what cost?

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 19:

The consequences of Harry's trip with Dumbledore come to light and Harry finally confronts Snape about his role in Voldemort's hunt after Harry and his parents. What will Snape do when backed into a corner? And in the aftermath of Hermione and Draco's moment together, predictably, Ron is vexed and his friendship with Hermione looks to be tumultuous at best. Will it be enough to break the trio apart? Ron is understandably upset, but what has Draco so angry? Then, events unfold that cause Harry to be obsessed with finding a way to beat Voldemort, but will he take it too far?

… _Harry wasn't going to let Snape bully him around. Those days were over, teacher or not._

"_I don't have to tell you anything."_

… _Snape sneered. "Indeed. Well, we'll see about that. Just like your father, you are. Always —"_

"_How dare you talk about my father? Never mention him to my face again!"_

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Not sure if Hermione actually has an uncle, as Rowling never explored Hermione's family. But I'm going to say she does. Let's say this uncle is on her mother's side. No particular reason, but that's what I'm going to go with.

A/N: Sorry if the cave scene dragged everything down. This isn't my favorite chapter (although it certainly isn't my least favorite), because I don't have a whole lot of original material in here (although I do love my fight with Harry and Dumbledore, if I say so myself). But it was necessary to include in the story, and I really liked this section of Rowling's book. Next chapter, we get to some major plot changes. I'm actually really excited for the next portion of story that is coming up. I pray you guys like what I've done with it.

P.S. I really hope that almost-kiss scene between Hermione and Draco wasn't overdone. I wrote it earlier on, and tried to fix it up and make it less cloying. I'm still not entirely satisfied with it, but I hope you all found it alright. I don't think romance is my strong point. Suggestions are welcome.

Signing off,

fanster


	20. Beyond the Veil

Sorry I couldn't get this up earlier. I've been having computer issues. But it's all better now!

DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter does not belong to me. I think you already know that. I feel like I'm beating a dead horse here, but I'm a bit afraid of not including this here. First story nerves maybe.

As I've already mentioned, from here on out, the story does not resemble _HBP_ any longer. There are radical shifts, and I'm really starting to diverge from the canon path here. The only thing you will be able to recognize in this chapter is from _DH_ which shows some of Snape's memories. The sequel will be virtually unrecognizable from the Deathly Hallows.

* * *

Chapter 19

Beyond the Veil

The first thing Harry thought to do when he woke up the next morning was to go and see how Dumbledore was doing. He wasn't sure if the Headmaster was in his own quarters or still with Snape; Harry wasn't exactly sure where Dumbledore's quarters were — he assumed they were connected to his office somehow — but didn't want to intrude and so, instead, he headed off to Snape's.

Last night, Ron and Hermione had stayed up (separately) and wanted to know everything that happened, but he had been so worried about Dumbledore that he didn't feel much like telling stories; and he especially didn't want to have to do it twice. Still, he relayed all he could about what occurred in the cave from Voldemort's past. When he came to the Inferi, Hermione predictably gasped and Ron's face turned white. But when he brought out the locket to show them, he immediately knew something was wrong. Turning the locket over in his hands, he realized that the locket wasn't as large as he remembered seeing in the Pensieve, and it was missing the embossed letter 'S' that represented Slytherin.

He opened the locket to discover nothing inside but a scrap of crumpled parchment. It read:

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can._

_I face death in the hope that when you meet your match you will be mortal once more._

_R.A.B._

This was not a Horcrux. Bitter disappointment swept over Harry. If something bad happened to Dumbledore, it would stamp this whole ordeal as an unnecessary risk. None of them had any idea who R.A.B. was. Harry knew that in reality, Hermione probably wouldn't know the answer to this riddle, but with her astounding quantity of knowledge, it didn't seem too remote a possibility. Even though he knew the odds were slim at best, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

The note didn't give Harry any leads, but perhaps Dumbledore would know. That would be the only thing that could potentially salvage this trip. Harry could only hope that R.A.B., whoever that was, had already destroyed the Horcrux. But how would they know whether or not it actually was destroyed? Either way, they would have to track down the real Horcrux.

. *** .

"How is the potion coming along, Severus?"

Dumbledore was sitting on the sofa in Severus' quarters. Snape sat in a chair at the table, drinking coffee.

"Well enough. As I anticipated, this potion is more complex than any I have ever brewed before. But I have already gathered all of the ingredients and received the instructions from Wormtail. No doubt, he had no idea what any of it was about. The potion itself will take at least three months to brew, as one of the phases must take place under a full lunar cycle, and it must be timed correctly. The Dark Lord is well aware of this, and so he has given me until the end of term to complete the potion."

"And you think you can make the deadline?"

Severus inclined his head. "Yes. There are some gaps in the instructions, but I believe I have remedied that. I just have to experiment with the potion to make sure it turns out." Severus had made several batches so that any irreversible blunder could simply be disposed of.

"Good, good. Have you learned anything further about what this potion will do?"

This time, Severus shook his head. "No. I haven't the faintest idea what it will do. But with more time to analyze the procedure, I am sure I can make a rough estimate of what the potion will do. I have been testing the different effects of certain aspects of the potion that I am currently unfamiliar with. I have never seen a potion with as many unknown ingredients and combinations thereof."

"It must truly be an exceptional potion if even you cannot identify all of its characteristics," said Dumbledore. "Hmm… we will have to pay close attention to anything that might be connected with this potion. But for now, I believe you have a visitor at your door."

. *** .

Running down the stairs and arriving at Snape's office, Harry hammered on the door. When there was no answer, he continued his assault with intensified fervor. Finally, the door opened to reveal an irritable Professor Snape. Before he could say anything, Harry blurted, "How's Dumbledore? Is he here?"

Snape paused for a moment before saying, "Yes, he is here; he is doing as well as he can be, given the circumstances."

"Can I see him?"

"He needs rest," Snape said shortly. "Any questions you might have for him can surely wait."

_What if they can't?_ Harry thought stubbornly. Why did Snape always assume that anything Harry had to say was unimportant?

"Severus," a voice called from inside the room. "It is alright, let him in."

Harry got the impression that Snape was fighting the temptation to sigh deeply in exasperation, but he reluctantly stepped aside to allow Harry entry. Harry stepped through the doorway, past Snape's office, and into the room where they had placed Dumbledore last night.

When he entered the room, he saw that Dumbledore was no longer lying on the couch, but sitting on one of his own custom conjured chairs. Snape wandered elsewhere to tend to matters that Harry did not care about in the slightest at the present moment. Sweeping his eyes across the area he noted with a detached interest that the décor in the room was plain, simple, and utilitarian; exactly as Harry would have expected from the man whose attire was as predictable as the sunrise.

"How are you, sir?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked exhausted, but smiled nonetheless. "Thanks to Professor Snape, much better than I am sure I would otherwise be. In time, I will recover, and that is something to be thankful for." He certainly appeared to be in much better spirits than when Harry left him. Dumbledore didn't look quite back to his normal self — he still seemed older and more tired than Harry ever remembered seeing him — but on the whole, he did not look to be in any kind of imminent danger.

"Sir," Harry said, pulling out the locket, "I'm afraid this isn't the real Horcrux. It's a different locket — it's a fake — and there was a note inside."

At once, Dumbledore's expression and demeanor turned grave.

"Do you have any idea who R —"

Harry became very quiet and still as he heard Snape reenter the room.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Dumbledore covered. "But you'll have to forgive an old man his senescence. I'm not quite feeling up to our next lesson so soon. Rest assured, we can continue as soon as I have completely recuperated. I would suggest that you hold on to what we have covered so far as best as you can until such time."

"Yes, sir." He'd just have to keep the fake Horcrux and wait until his next lesson. He didn't trust Snape, and apparently, even Dumbledore didn't want him privy to that knowledge. "I just wanted to check and make sure you were alright."

"Your concern is touching, I do appreciate it," said Dumbledore, inclining his head.

"It's no problem, Professor. I'm glad you're doing better."

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore stood up shakily. "I suppose I should get up and test my legs. Do you have that tea ready, Severus?"

"Yes, Headmaster; in the kitchen."

"Then I will see you soon, Harry."

"Yes, sir."

As Harry walked out, he could hear Dumbledore telling Snape, "Do you mind if I open the curtains, Severus? It is rather dark in here."

But Snape had followed Harry out into the entrance room of his office.

"What were you doing last night, Potter?" he asked. Harry got the feeling he had been waiting for a chance to interrogate him the whole time.

"If Dumbledore wanted you to know, he would have already told you," he replied testily.

"Did he instruct you not to tell me?" said Snape with his nostrils flaring in barely contained annoyance.

"Not specifically, no, but —"

"Then you will tell me. I am your teacher, and I order you to tell me where you were last night, what you were doing, and why you were with the Headmaster."

No, Harry wasn't going to let Snape bully him around. Those days were over, teacher or not.

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"You, Potter," said Snape in a reprimanding tone, "will not speak to me in such a manner. Do I have to deduct House points to prove my point? Twenty from Gryffindor, I think."

Harry gave a sardonic laugh. "You really think I care? Take all the points you want. Give me detention. I don't care. I'll speak to you however I want; just because you're a teacher here doesn't mean I have to respect you."

Snape sneered. "Indeed. Well, we'll see about that. Just like your father, you are. Always —"

"How dare you talk about my father?" shouted Harry becoming angry. "Never mention him to my face again!"

Snape opened his mouth to return a withering retort, but it never got to its intended target. Harry was too fast. He was done playing nice with this man.

"I can't believe Dumbledore lets someone like you around his students. And I can't believe he allowed you access into my mind. I even started to trust you! Well, that's a mistake I'm never going to make again."

"I hate to inform you, Potter," Snape said with a snarl, "that as much as you loathe me — and believe me, the feeling isn't unreciprocated — we will still continue with your lessons. So I suggest you quit your whining and do what must be done. But that's always so hard for you, isn't it? Always acting the spoiled, impudent —"

"I'm not doing _anything_ with you! You're vile and cruel — nothing more than a slave for Vold —"

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Snape, his face contorted in violent rage. "You know how many times I've saved your skin, you ungrateful brat?"

"Why? You hate me, so why would you do that? It's a lie! The only reason you haven't killed me is because your precious _master_ wants to kill me himself!"

"I'm warning you, Potter," Snape said menacingly, drawing himself up to his full height so that he towered over Harry, "hold your tongue."

"You know, you're just as bad as he is," Harry plowed on recklessly, nevertheless. "For a while, I thought you just might be human, but now I know better. You don't care about anyone but yourself. But at least Voldemort has an excuse: he was born that way. You," said Harry, pointing an accusatory finger at Snape, "You want to make everyone else as miserable as you are. You're just a cold, heartless bastard."

Snape whipped out his wand, raising it to point it at Harry. Harry chose to ignore this.

"You don't feel anything, do you? Nothing good, anyway — not friendship, not happiness, or love…"

Snape finally lost all control and shoved Harry into the wall behind him, and then backhanded him across the face. It stung, but the hit was quick and clean. In his anger, Harry could barely feel the sting, it only further enraged him. How dare this man, the man who led his parents to their deaths, how dare Snape touch him? Snape's face was now inches away from his own, and Harry could feel hot breath on his face as Snape said in a dangerously low voice, "No more out of you, Potter. Now, be silent before I force you to be."

"What are you going to do to me?" Harry asked contemptuously, unfazed and guided by his own righteous anger. "I know what you are! I know the truth. I know you're the reason my parents are dead!"

Snape's face suddenly turned stark white, and his demeanor at once lost its look of pure wrath. His fingers, which had been gripping Harry's shoulders tightly, slipped to his sides. He took a step back away from Harry. "What are you talking about?" he asked uncertainly. To Harry, Snape seemed almost fearful, a fact that Harry took savage pleasure in.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about! You told him! You told Voldemort to go after my parents!"

"How did you — who told you? … Was it Dumbledore?" Snape's face now registered nothing but nervous disbelief.

"Ha! You really think he told me?" said Harry. "No, he's protected you, far more than you deserve."

"I don't know, he seems to confide everything to you lately," Snape replied, allowing a touch of bitterness to creep back into his voice. "Things which he chooses not to share with me," he concluded, finally exhibiting his frustration.

"Yeah, maybe he doesn't trust you as much as he says he does," taunted Harry. "That's something, I suppose. I just don't understand why he doesn't get rid of your sorry ass. Tell me, just how happy were you when you found out that my filthy father and Mudblood mother were murdered? Did you celebrate it with the memory of your master?"

"No," Snape said quietly.

"But you don't deny it?"

Snape turned away from Harry and after a moment's pause, said, "I don't deny that I am one of the reasons your parents are dead."

"Then you admit it! Now there's no way Dumbledore can trust you anymore!"

"He knows what I did and my part in your parents' deaths. Yes, I bear some of the responsibility, but that doesn't mean I… I did not know who the prophecy concerned."

"Oh, that's right. You're _sorry_. How can you honestly think I'd believe that? Either way, you were condemning someone to die so what's the difference?… And I'm sure you were just heart-broken to learn that I survived." Harry's voice dripped with bitter sarcasm. "So go on, then. Why don't you just finish the job? We both know you didn't give a damn about my parents."

"Then you presume much," said a scornful Snape. "Don't believe for a second that you actually know anything about me, Potter."

"You hated my father!"

"Yes, I did, that is true."

"But you're sorry he's dead? You expect me to believe that?" Harry asked incredulously.

"While I didn't 'celebrate', as you put it, I will admit I wasn't altogether distraught to learn your father was dead."

"But — then what… I don't understand. That means there's no reason to believe you're on our side!"

Now, Snape did roll his eyes, despite the situation. Really, Potter's inability to catch on quickly made this far more painful than it had to be. "If it wasn't your father, that leaves only one other option."

"What are you saying?" And then it dawned on Harry — a singularly far-fetched, unlikely, and ludicrous idea. "What, my mother?" Harry laughed. "You can't be serious, I saw you in that memory! You're telling me you were sorry to see someone who was nothing to you but a lowly Mudblood die?" he asked ironically.

"Stop it!" yelled Snape, and to Harry it looked like his professor was suffering a deep pain. He was breathing heavily, and after a few moments, Snape leaned over on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I never thought I'd actually have to tell you this," he muttered to himself. He seemed to steel himself with a deep breath and said, "Let me explain."

"I don't want any explanation you have to offer," said Harry combatively.

"Then let me show you. Use Legilimancy on me." Potter had to trust him, or else the balance of war would shift even more into Voldemort's favor.

"And why should I do that? It's probably just some trick."

"It's no trick… Please…"

Harry looked up at him sharply. That was a word he had never before heard, nor ever expected to come from Snape's mouth. He looked earnest, more emotional than Harry had ever seen him. But Harry still didn't trust him. Maybe Snape just wanted to figure out what he had been doing with Dumbledore. But Harry knew he could keep Snape out of his mind if he had to. Still, if he could avoid it…

"Why can't Dumbledore just tell me?"

"You won't believe it unless it comes directly from me. Search my memories." Snape was somewhat reluctant to do this, but he had no other choice.

Harry, for his part, was very hesitant to agree to this, even though, despite everything he was also a bit curious. He was also a bit surprised Dumbledore hadn't heard the two of them arguing — or maybe he had… you just never knew with Dumbledore. Coming to a decision, Harry said, "Fine. But make it quick. If I don't like what I see, I'll stop it."

"Fine."

Pulling out his wand, Harry was tempted to perform a quite different spell on Snape… "Legilimens!" Harry was none too gentle upon entering Snape's mind. It was with no small satisfaction that he saw Snape visibly flinch upon mental contact. And then, all of a sudden, Harry was pulled strongly into a memory.

The sun blared as the first memory led him to a verdant park. He saw two girls: one tall and skinny girl and a smaller girl with blazing red hair. He instantly recognized the two as his mother and Aunt Petunia. He watched his young mother swing higher and higher and finally fly into the air, literally fly, before landing on feather-light feet. She had soared in the air for an unnaturally long time, and Harry knew that she had been performing magic. The Petunia in the memory, much like the current-day version, was fretting over this oddness. His mother, Lily, continued to perform other sorts of magic as Petunia, caught between curiosity and disapproval, looked on nervously.

And then, Harry saw a skinny boy who could only be young Snape emerge from the foliage. It was very surreal and odd to see his professor as a small child, no more than a boy. But Harry instantly recognized the shoulder-length black hair and authoritative, yet effortless gait. He was poorly dressed, as if he could not afford new clothing. Snape looked to be no older than ten years old or so.

"It's not natural," Petunia was saying to her little sister.

"Oh, come on, it's not hurting anyone, is it, Tuney?"

_Tuney?_ Despite the situation, Harry had to fight the urge to laugh.

As the two sisters argued about the level of acceptability of Lily's strange powers, Snape stepped out to address the younger of the two.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" he said.

"What's obvious?" asked Lily.

With a glance at Petunia, he lowered his voice and said to the smaller, red-haired girl, "I know what you are."

"What do you mean?" said Lily.

"You're… you're a witch," whispered Snape.

But instead of being amazed, she looked affronted. "That's not a very nice thing to say to someone!" she said as she went to join her sister's side.

"No, wait!" said Snape, running after her. "You are a witch, so is my mother. And I'm a wizard!"

"Wizard?" Petunia screeched in indignation. "What sort of cock and bull story is this?"

Snape furrowed his brows in impatient irritation. "It's not."

"I know who you are. You're that Snape boy! He lives down Spinner's End by the river," she told Lily, and it was evident from her tone that she considered the address a poor recommendation. "Is this what you spend all your time doing? Insulting people and calling them names?"

"I'm not insulting _her_," Snape said pointedly.

Petunia's eyes narrowed in contempt. "Let's go, Lily," she said, turning around to leave. Lily obeyed her sister at once, also glaring at Snape as she left.

"You can do things that you can't explain, can't you?" he shouted after her. "Make extraordinary things happen." Lily paused and looked back. "It's magic," he told her.

To Harry, it looked as if his mother opened her mouth to speak, but then Petunia said, "Come on, Lily. Don't listen to anything _that boy_ has to say." Lily did as her sister said and followed her home, but not before glancing back at the dark, skinny boy.

The scene dispersed and he was pulled into another memory. He was now in a small thicket of trees. He could see a sunlit river glittering through their trunks. The shadows cast by the trees created a basin of cool green shade. Two children sat facing each other, cross-legged on the ground.

Harry watched as Snape explained about the Wizarding world: the Ministry of Magic, the dementors at Azkaban… and Hogwarts. The little red-headed girl listened, captivated in fascination.

"So, it is real, isn't it? Petunia says you're lying to me, that there isn't really a Hogwarts."

"It is real. Real for us," said Snape. "We'll get the letter, you and me — the letter of acceptance."

"Really?" whispered Lily.

"Definitely," said Snape, and even with his poorly cut hair and his odd clothes, he struck an oddly impressive figure sprawled in front of her, brimming of confidence in his own destiny.

"Will it make a difference, me being Muggle-born?"

Snape hesitated. His black eyes, roamed over Lily's face. "No," he said. "It doesn't make any difference."

"Good," said Lily, relaxing. It was clear she had been worrying.

"All that matters is how much magic you have, and you've got loads of it," said Snape. "You'll be fine."

Lily smiled at him, and slowly, he returned it back.

"How are things at your house?" Lily asked.

A little crease appeared between his eyes. "Fine," he said.

"They're not arguing anymore?"

"Oh yes, they're arguing," said Snape. He picked up a fistful of grass and began tearing the blades to pieces, seemingly unaware of his actions. "But I don't have long to wait until I'm gone."

"Doesn't your dad like magic?"

"He doesn't like anything, much," said Snape.

"Severus?"

A little smile twisted Snape's mouth when she said his name.

"Yes?"

"What — ?" But she never got to finish her question as a small rustling noise made them turn: Petunia, hiding behind a tree, had lost her footing.

"Tuney!" said Lily, surprise but not disapproval in her voice. Snape however, jumped to his feet.

"Who's spying now?" he shouted. "What do _you_ want?"

Petunia was clearly alarmed at being caught. Harry could see her struggling for something hurtful to say. "What is that you're wearing, anyway?" she said, pointing at Snape's chest. "Your mum's blouse? Is that the best she can give you?"

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and the branch over Petunia's head fell to the ground. Lily screamed. The branch caught Petunia on the shoulder; she staggered backward and burst into tears.

"Tuney!" Lily called out to her, but to no avail. She rounded on Snape. "Did you make that happen?"

"No." He looked both defiant and scared.

"You did!" She was backing away from him. "You did that! You hurt her!"

"No — no, I didn't!"

But the lie did not convince Lily. After one last burning look, she ran from the little thicket, off after her sister, leaving Snape looking miserable and confused.

Without warning, Harry was on platform nine and three quarters, with the child-Snape standing beside him. A short distance away, two girls stood a little apart from their parents. Lily seemed to be pleading with her sister.

"… I'm sorry, Tuney, I'm sorry! Listen —" She caught her sister's hand and held tight to it, though Petunia tried to pull away. "Maybe once I'm there — no, listen, Tuney! Maybe once I'm there, I can go to Professor Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind!"

"I don't want to go!" yelled Petunia, trying to rip her hand out of her sister's grasp. "You think I want to go to some stupid castle and learn to be a — a freak?"

Lily's eyes filled with tears as Petunia succeeded in tugging her hand away.

"I'm not a freak," said Lily. "That's a horrible thing to say."

"Well, that's where you're going," said Petunia with relish. "A special school for freaks… that's what the two of you are… You and that Snape boy… It's good you're being separated from us normal people. It's for our own safety."

Lily glanced toward her parents, who were looking around the platform with an air of joyful astonishment, drinking in the scene. Then she looked back at her sister, her voice was low and fierce. "You didn't think it was such a freak's school when you wrote to the headmaster and begged him to take you."

Petunia turned scarlet.

"What are you talking about? Beg? I didn't beg!"

"I saw his reply. It was very kind."

"You shouldn't have read —" whispered Petunia, "that was my private — how could you — ?"

Lily gave herself away by half-glancing toward where Snape stood nearby.

Petunia gasped. "That boy found it! You and _that boy_ have been sneaking into my room!"

"No — we weren't sneaking —" said the younger sister, now on the defensive. "Sev saw the envelope and couldn't believe a Muggle was being contacted by Hogwarts, that's all!"

"'Sev?' What is that, your pet name for him?" Petunia teased spitefully.

"No!" said Lily, also turning red now, glancing quickly over at Snape. "It's just a nickname."

Whatever, I don't care what you call him or what you do! He'll always be a disgusting creep and you'll always be a psycho lunatic," said Petunia. "Freak!" she spat at her sister, before stomping back over to her parents…

Harry was zipped along to a different memory once again. This time, Snape was sitting in a compartment with Lily. Time had not elapsed very far. Lily was still upset at what had transpired with her sister.

"But this is it! We're off to Hogwarts!" he said, unable to contain his excitement and in an attempt to cheer up his friend.

She nodded, mopping her eyes, giving him a small smile.

"You'd better be in Slytherin," said Snape, encouraged that she had brightened up a little.

"Slytherin?" said a boy's voice.

One of the boys sharing the compartment, who had shown no interest at all in Lily or Snape until that point, looked around at the word, and Harry, whose attention had been solely focused on the two beside the window, got a shock when saw his father: slight, black-haired like Snape, but with that indefinable air of having been well cared for, even adored — something that Snape so conspicuously lacked.

"Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" James asked the boy lounging on the seat across from him. With a jolt, Harry realized that it was Sirius, who turned to James and said, "My whole family has been in Slytherin."

"Blimey," said James, "and I thought you seemed alright!"

Sirius grinned. "Maybe I'll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"

James lifted an invisible sword. "'Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my dad."

Snape scoffed in derision. James turned on him. "Got a problem with that?"

"No," said Snape, though his slight sneer said otherwise. "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy —"

"Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?" interjected Sirius.

James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius with deep dislike.

"Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment."

"Oooooo…" James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice, and James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

"See ya, Snivellus!" a voice called, as the compartment door slammed…

The image dissolved once more to make way for the start of the year's feast. Harry and Snape both watched as Lily was called up. Snape gave a small groan when she was sorted into Gryffindor…

The scene switched again and Harry saw his father and Sirius making fun of Snape. They were clearly a few years older now. His mother looked more mature, and Snape looked a lot taller. When Lily came to her friend's aid, James quickly made an unsuccessful bid at asking her out.

"Come on, Evans, why not?" he asked when she rejected him, not for the first time, Harry was sure. "We're perfect for each other." It was a little disconcerting how much his two parents seemed not to care for each other, even though he knew they were young and things would eventually change.

Lily scoffed while Snape said, "You know you're getting desperate when you're asking her for reasons why not, instead of supplying your own reasons for why. Get it through your thick skull, will you? She's clearly not interested."

"Hey, don't get smart with me, Snivellus," James warned. "What, you think you have a better shot than me?… Pathetic."

"Get smart?" repeated Snape. "How would you know?"

Lily giggled, which Harry rather thought irritated his father. Sirius, ever the loyal wingman, was fuming as well and looked ready to fight.

"You know what I think, Snivelly?" James said in a low, and clearly what he thought to be a menacing voice.

"If you said what you thought," replied Snape, "you wouldn't be speaking, would you?"

Now, Lily chortled with full gusto as Snape led her away, while James was left to interpret the insult. It wasn't much longer, but the two friends were an arm's length out of harm's way before James and Sirius started firing off spells their way.

They wheeled around the corner and took the pathway across the covered bridge. It looked to be around springtime.

"Ha, ha," Lily was still laughing. "He's really awful, isn't he?"

Snape was chuckling lightly, too, with an awkward, crooked sort of smile on his face.

"Well, thanks for your help," she said, leaning over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

While she didn't seem to think anything of it, the young Snape instantly froze and his face turned crimson.

"What?" asked Lily cheerfully, unaware of anything amiss.

"N-nothing."

Again, Harry was swept off to a different memory. This one was at a later time — Lily and Severus were arguing about the qualities of his acquaintances. She accused him of knowing Dark Magic and disapproved of two of his new friends — names Harry recognized at once: Avery and Mulciber.

Feeling a sense of déjà vu, Harry watched again as Snape left the Great Hall after sitting his O.W.L. and wandered away from the castle, straying inadvertently close to the place beneath the beech tree where James, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew sat together. Harry knew what happened next, and had no desire to see it again. It gave him no pleasure to see his father taunt another person, unprovoked. Harry watched as his mother went to Snape's defense. Distantly he heard Snape shout at her in his humiliation and his fury, the unforgivable word: "Mudblood."

The scene changed… It was nighttime. Lily stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"I'm sorry."

Lily shook her head in disappointment.

"I'm sorry!"

"I'm not interested. I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here."

"I was. I would have done. Listen, I never meant to call you that, it just—"

"Slipped out?" There was no sympathy in her voice. "It's too late. I've made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends — you see, you don't even deny it! You don't even deny that's what you're all aiming to be! You can't wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?"

He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking.

"I can't do this anymore," she said.

"But — but we're friends!"

Her eyes softened, and Harry thought he saw tears forming in his young mother's eyes; she closed them tightly for a moment. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I can't follow the same path you're going down. I can't pretend anymore. You've chosen your way, I've chosen mine."

"No — listen, I didn't mean —"

"— to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?"

He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a sad and almost pleading look — as if she were waiting for him to call her back and deny that everything she had just said about him was the truth — she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole, and Snape could only stand there, looking hopeless and lost…

The corridor dissolved. Harry seemed to fly through shifting shapes and colors until his surroundings solidified again and he stood on a hilltop, forlorn and cold in the darkness, with the wind whistling through the branches of a few leafless trees. The adult Snape was gasping for air and gripping his wand tightly, waiting for something or for someone…

Harry watched in fascination as Dumbledore suddenly appeared before Snape.

"Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?"

Snape recoiled in surprise and panic.

"There is n-no message — I'm here on my own account! I come with a warning — no, a request… please."

"And what request would a Death Eater make of me?"

"The — the prophecy… the prediction… Trelawney…"

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore. "How much did you relay to your master?"

"Everything — everything I heard!" said Snape. "That is why — it is for that reason I have come… He thinks it means Lily Evans!"

"The prophecy did not refer to a woman," said Dumbledore. "It spoke of a boy born at the end of July —"

"Stop it! You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down — kill them all…"

"If she means so much to you," said Dumbledore, "surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?"

"I have — I have asked him —"

"You disgust me," said Dumbledore, and Harry had never heard so much contempt in his voice. Snape seemed to shrink a little, "You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?"

Snape said nothing, but merely looked up at Dumbledore.

"Hide them all, then," he croaked. "Keep her — keep all of them — safe. Please."

"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"

"In — in return?" asked Snape, gaping at Dumbledore. Harry expected him to protest, but after a long moment he said, "Anything."

Through a whirl of colors and flashes of memory, the next window of memory Snape channeled him to view was of Dumbledore's office.

Snape was slumped forward in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim. After a moment or two, Snape raised his face, and he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the wild hilltop.

"I thought… I thought you were going to keep her safe…"

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person," said Dumbledore. "Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

Snape's breathing was shallow.

"Her boy survives," said Dumbledore.

Snape flinched and jerked his head, as if Dumbledore had just shouted at him.

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?"

"Don't!" bellowed Snape. "Gone… dead…"

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

"It's all my fault…"

"There is no use for your repentance; it serves no purpose, and it certainly won't bring anyone back to life," said Dumbledore coldly. "It is only your actions that matter. If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, and Dumbledore's words appeared to take a long time to reach him.

"What — what do you mean?"

"Make sure that Lily Potter's death was not in vain. Help me protect her son."

"He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone —"

"The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

There was a long pause, and slowly Snape regained control of himself, mastered his own breathing. At last he said, "Very well. But never — never — tell anyone, Dumbledore! This must be between us. Promise me. I cannot bear — especially Potter's son… I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape's pained and grief-stricken face. "If you insist…"

Harry felt like he was spinning, he felt he would surely drown amidst the swirling pools of memory and sensation. Fragments of memory zoomed by in a flash, leaving him disoriented. The memories were becoming less distinct and more chaotic, blurring into one another.

Next, Snape was complaining about Harry himself. Dumbledore assured him that he was being blinded by his preconceived notions, and finished by telling him to keep an eye on Quirrell.

Another flash of color and light… The Dark Lord was back. He had just resurrected. Dumbledore ordered Snape to go and rejoin his master. Snape walked out of the office door, his face set with a look of grim determination and solemnity; but to Harry's admiration, he could detect no fear, even though it surely must be there.

And then, they were back in Dumbledore's office, discussing Malfoy's mission. Snape was to find out what Draco was up to, and assist him in along his way to prevent harm from coming to Draco himself, or anyone else…

… Snape and Dumbledore were arguing. Snape wanted to know what Harry and Dumbledore were doing together during their private lessons and complaining about his own lessons.

"How am I to ever teach him Occlumency, Albus? The boy is as receptive as his father. He's stubborn; he never listens! This venture is doomed to fail. Why don't you just teach him yourself?"

"No," answered Dumbledore. "You must finish what you have both started."

"But why? You seem to be having your own lessons, anyway, the contents of which you still don't deem me trustworthy enough to know… Just do them then."

"It is not a question of trust. I simply prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket, particularly a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort."

"Which I do on your orders!"

"And you do it extremely well. Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you."

"Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord's mind!"

"Voldemort fears that connection," said Dumbledore. "Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry's mind means to him. It was pain such as he has never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again, I am sure of it. Not in that way. But it is still important for Harry to learn Occlumency."

"I don't understand."

"You don't need to. All you need to know is that no harm will become of the instruction he is receiving under my tutelage. Nevertheless, continue to instruct Harry on the ways of Occlumency. As for the lessons, it is good for you both. I am sure you will not fail," said Dumbledore.

"You would risk the Dark Lord's knowledge to indulge in some feel good, story-book sentiment?" Snape asked incredulously.

"No, much more than that. You will soon understand. And he may be his father in looks, but his deepest nature runs with his mother."

The last thing before Harry was tugged out of Snape's mind was the stunned look on the face of none other than Snape himself.

Coming back to himself, Harry gasped as if he had been holding his breath underwater for a very long time. Panting, he also realized that unformed tears caused his eyes to water slightly, as they would when one was in pain. He felt oddly hollow and muted. After the intense bursts of emotion he experienced within Snape's mind, what he was feeling now seemed oddly leaden in comparison [1].

Harry stood there for a minute, trying to absorb it all in. Before, he felt betrayed and wanted nothing more than to attack Snape — hated the man with all of his being. But now, he wasn't sure what he felt. He wasn't angry; he just couldn't come to terms with whatever it was he was feeling at the moment.

But now that he knew, it all made sense. Pieces of the puzzle he didn't realize even belonged to a puzzle began to fall in to place: Why Snape hated his father so much, or how he never seemed to mention his mother when he had clearly known her at school. It also explained why Dumbledore would not tell Harry the reasoning behind believing in Snape's innocence. The fact that Snape knew Petunia's name wasn't because of his good memory, after all. It also explained other small things that Harry began to remember — the familiar handwriting, Snape's reaction to the word Mudblood in class, his response when he saw Harry's memory of his encounter with the dementor on the Hogwarts Express… his mother screaming in pain… His mother… she was good at Potions, according to Slughorn. Was that just a coincidence? And finally, it explained why Snape seemed to hate Harry the moment they met. Harry knew he was the spitting image of his father, a man who not only bullied Snape as a young kid, but eventually ended up marrying the women that meant the world to Snape growing up… except for Harry's eyes… he had his mother's eyes. What a terrible and tormenting reminder of not only the loss of life, but loss of what might have been, if only things had been a little different… Not that Harry believed this justified the way Snape had acted toward him — he still thought that it was rather petty, he had only been a small child, after all — but at least now he understood. Maybe Snape regretted that, too, they certainly had been getting along better lately, before Harry found out about Snape's involvement of his parents' deaths.

Glancing over, he saw that Snape was facing away from him, and unnaturally still. When Snape said nothing, Harry finally mustered the courage to ask, "Why?" It was the only question on his mind. "Why didn't you tell me before? It would have made things a whole lot easier." _Understatement of the century_, thought Harry.

Snape gave him a strange look before simply saying, "I didn't want you to know," as if it was the most obvious thing.

"But why? That way, everyone would know that you're on our side," said Harry, not quite understanding.

"So, I convinced you."

"Well, yes." There was no denying it any longer. After all, something like that couldn't be faked or made up. It completely changed Harry's outlook. There was an awkward silence until Harry said, "You know, it doesn't bother me, about you and my mum."

Snape hesitated. "Your mother… was a kind and generous person. She was one of the only people in my life who truly cared for me. She looked past the surface and saw the good in people, and accepted them for who they were."

"You loved her." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact.

Snape's lower jaw worked around as he tried to find something to say.

Harry saved him from the discomfiture. "She should've forgiven you."

"What?" asked Snape, clearly lost.

"My mother. She didn't forgive you, but I think, maybe she should have."

"Potter, she was right to end our friendship. I was going in a direction that her standards would not allow her to travel. I was foolish and rash as a younger man, willing to indulge in my own inquisitive desires at the risk of other people's livelihoods."

"If she hadn't given up, things might have been different," Harry persisted. It was true. He couldn't help but think what might have happened if his mother had just stayed with it a bit longer… She might still be alive. His parents… Then again, he himself might not be alive if Snape had never joined the Death Eaters. Harry realized that this route of thinking was not only a bit disconcerting, but also pointless. The past was the past, and couldn't be changed. Still, it was something to think about.

Snape scoffed in dismissal. "The fault was mine, and mine alone. If anything, your mother delayed me from the pursuing my path of iniquity. Her goodness influenced me for the better, and I believe it is the only reason I didn't fall sooner. What I did was my own decision — _my_ actions led me down into darkness. No burden of what I became rests with her. You cannot judge her actions on the indirect consequences."

"I'm not saying it's her fault. I'm just saying maybe she should've kept trying; she was obviously wrong about you… I was wrong about you." All Harry could feel for his once hated professor now was respect.

"Not back then. I did become a Death Eater… and then I led your parents to their deaths."

"No."

"What?"

"No," Harry repeated with more vigor. "You're wrong. It's not your fault. I just wanted to blame you for everything; because things were so much easier that way. But that doesn't make it right." Dumbledore had been right; Harry had blinded himself to the truth. He might have figured it out sooner if he hadn't been so preoccupied in assessing blame. "It's Voldemort," said Harry. "He's always been the one responsible — the _only_ one responsible. None of this would've happened if not for him."

"Yes, but you can't expect anything different from him. _I_, on the other hand, had an opportunity to change what had happened, and I failed. And as you mentioned earlier, I was still willing to allow the unthinkable happen to _someone_."

"But you regret that now, don't you?"

"Of course, but that does not absolve me of my past transgressions."

"It's in the past now," argued Harry, who despite his antagonistic past with Snape felt oddly like defending him. "The only thing that matters is who you are now."

"Nothing will change the fact that I assisted the Dark Lord in finding your parents — your mother — and killing them — you as well except you thwarted him in a way no one thought possible."

Harry was about to argue again, but stopped short. Something about what Snape had just said… A shocking realization reached Harry. "You asked for him to spare her."

"Yes, I'm not proud of that either, Potter, but —"

"No, I mean… she had a choice."

Snape's brow furrowed as he tried to figure what point Harry was trying to make.

"I always wondered why I survived," he continued, "when I'm sure my mother wasn't the only parent to die for their child. Even in my vision… the mother died for her son. But he wasn't saved. And I always wondered why. Now I know why: my mother had a choice; Voldemort _did_ give her a chance to survive."

"What do you mean?" asked Snape quietly, looking at Harry for an answer.

"When the dementors get near me, I can hear my parents… when they died. Voldemort told her to 'step aside' — said she didn't need to die. I thought it was odd that Voldemort would give her a chance to live — it's not in his nature… but he did. It must have been because you asked him. And because of that —"

"— her sacrifice protected you… That is why you survived," Snape finished, comprehension dawning on his face.

"So in a way, you're also one of the reasons I'm still alive," Harry said with wonder.

Distaste and self-loathing colored Snape's face. "I didn't make any sacrifices, Potter. My request was purely self-centered," he admitted in disgust. "If not for me, you would all probably still be alive. You do not fully understand the magnitude of my wrongdoings. I still —"

"You need to let it go," Harry insisted. "I've forgiven you, so why can't you?"

Snape stared at him.

"If my mother isn't responsible for you becoming a Death Eater, then you can't be responsible for what happened to my parents. You can't have it both ways."

Snape paused and inspected Harry. "It's seems I have underestimated you, Potter. Albus is correct: You are much more like your mother."

Touched, Harry couldn't imagine a greater compliment from the normally inscrutable wizard. "Well, I'm glad I know now. I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

Snape shook his head. "It was understandable, considering what you thought about me. And I would appreciate it if you refrained from speaking of this matter with others."

Harry looked at him in confusion. "But why? There's nothing wrong with it; there's no shame in it."

"My reasons are my own." His tone made it clear that he was not going to elaborate any further.

Still uncertain, Harry nevertheless gave the man his word. He owed him that much. "Fine," he said. "I don't agree, but I respect your decision."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, sir, for telling me. I know it probably wasn't easy for you…" In fact, Harry was sure it hadn't been easy for Snape; far from it. But he now knew one thing: he would never again doubt Severus Snape.

Snape avoided his eyes awkwardly, then cleared his throat and said, "I must attend to the Headmaster. You should probably get going."

Harry nodded his head, and quietly left through the door. "See you, Professor."

After the door closed, Snape sighed and tiredly passed a hand over his face. Going to his private rooms behind his office, he sincerely hoped that Dumbledore had not heard a thing of his conversation with Potter. Severus was not sure he could endure all of the self-satisfied twinkling after all of that.

. *** .

Hermione was waiting for Harry when he arrived back in the common room; Ron was holed up in his dormitory. In the fleeting moments she saw him, she noted with sadness how he wouldn't even acknowledge her existence. And yet, while she still felt a little guilty, the whole thing was a load off of her mind, lightening the weight of her burden. Even though things were worse than they had ever been between her and her red-headed friend, she felt she could breathe a little easier now that she had revealed the truth. Her secret had weighed upon her consciousness like a lead blanket.

Late last night, Hermione told Harry all about what happened with Ron and Malfoy the other day, and it didn't really surprise him; he had guessed that something was going on between her and Malfoy. Unfortunately, it meant that things between her and Ron weren't going to patch up soon, if ever.

Harry had gotten up early to visit Dumbledore, even earlier than Hermione. Even though he had spent a sizable chunk of time in Snape's memories and reconciling with his professor, it was still somewhat early and most of the Gryffindor students — notorious for being late sleepers — weren't up yet.

"I figured that's where you went," said Hermione when Harry told her where he'd been. "We got a letter."

"We? A letter?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, from Lupin. He says he's doing a lot better now."

"Well, that's good."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Harry?" she asked rather tentatively.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I was wondering…"

"Wondering what?" he asked when she wasn't forthcoming.

"The mirror, we could use the fragments to communicate with each other. Instead of using owls all of the time over the summer, you know, in case someone… well, mostly you… run into trouble."

"That's a great idea, Hermione."

"Also…"

Why was she being so hesitant? "What, what is it?" he asked, seeing that something was on her mind.

"I was thinking… it might be good for me to give one to Draco as well."

Harry stared at her.

"I-I just worry about him. Especially if he's going home for break — and what with his father out of Azkaban and all —"

"Hermione."

"… as if being a spy wasn't enough. Anyway… I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, obviously. I know it was Sirius' —"

"Hermione," he said again.

"… and that might — well… I understand if — I just thought —"

"Hermione!" yelled Harry to get her attention and stop her rambling. He was reluctant to let Malfoy in on their secret form of communication, but it had been Hermione's idea and he could tell this was really important to her.

"I understand, it's okay."

"Really, Harry?" she said hopefully.

"Yes, really."

Her lips lifted up in a big smile. "Oh, thank you, Harry. I knew you would understand!" she exclaimed as she pulled him into a huge bear hug.

There was a sound of someone clearing their throat and they both turned to see a grumpy and unhappy Ron Weasley. He glanced over at them with an air of dissatisfaction, but said nothing and continued on his way toward the portrait hole.

"Ron, wait!" shouted Hermione. But he ignored her and walked out of the common room, slamming the door behind him. Even at a time like this, even with how badly he felt for Ron, Harry couldn't help but be slightly amused in imagining the scolding Ron would most likely receive from the Fat Lady, as well as a lecture on the proper handling of important portraits. His mood deflated when Hermione turned to him with sadness written across her face.

"Oh, Harry," she said, "What am I going to do?" she asked miserably.

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to this. "Just give him time, he'll come around," he said with more confidence than he felt.

"I really hope so," said Hermione.

Harry really hoped so, too.

. *** .

"So, you have a meeting with your dad?"

It was still morning, and Hermione met Draco in an empty classroom. He had said something urgent had come up, and apparently Draco's father wanted to meet him at the edge of Hogsmeade later that day. He had already talked with Dumbledore and Snape about the situation.

Draco scowled. "Yes, unfortunately, I do."

Biting her lip, Hermione said, "Just be careful."

"Why? Are you worried about me?" said Draco, his tone half-teasing.

Hermione stared for at him for a second. That was exactly what he said before they almost kissed. She blushed lightly at the thought. "As a matter of fact, I am," she told him.

"Don't worry," he said more seriously, "I'll be fine.

There was a nervous silence. Draco shifted uncomfortably. "So, I assume you'll be testing for your Apparition license?" he asked, changing the subject. Testing was set to start later in the day at Hogsmeade — actually around the same time as Draco would meet his father; that way he could sneak out when everybody else was headed out and be less likely to be noticed, as long as he was careful enough not to bump into anyone.

"Yes, aren't you?" asked Hermione.

"No, I have a summer birthday."

"So, you're in the same boat as Harry."

"Apparently so — it's rather depressing, isn't it? I was one of the first ones to Apparate and I get to stay put while most everyone else is off getting their licenses."

"Oh, you wouldn't be using Apparation until summer anyways."

"It'd be nice, though. The other night when I… I had to use a Portkey."

"How are you going to meet your father today?"

"I don't know. I'll have to sneak into Hogsmeade somehow. I could Disillusion myself, but it'll be during daytime, so it's risky. Actually, I was wondering… Do you think Potter would… let me borrow his cloak?" he asked hesitantly.

Hermione wasn't sure, that was one of Harry's most treasure possessions. "I don't know…"

"I thought it'd be better if you ask, he'd be less likely to say no to you."

"I think you'd better ask him," countered Hermione.

"What?" Draco looked confused. "Please, can't you just ask —"

"I really think he'd more willing to give it to you, if you ask him yourself. If you ask him nicely, I think he'd actually appreciate it more if you asked him directly, instead of going through me." True, Harry would respect Draco more this way, but Hermione thought it was time that Draco tried to make some other friends besides just her. Either way, they'd all be spending a lot more time together.

"You really think so?" he asked, looking dubious.

"Yes, I do."

"Alright then, I'll ask him after our next lesson, then."

"Good."

"So, has he been complaining about me staying the summer at his place?"

"He actually hasn't mentioned it much."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing, just curious, don't you think?"

"Not really," said Hermione. "I know you and Harry haven't gotten along in the past." Draco snorted. That was really quite an understatement. "But Harry's really a good guy. He'll give you a chance if you just let him, and if you give him one."

"And do you think he'll like what he finds out about me?"

"Of course, I do."

Draco scooted a little closer. "And what makes you think that?"

There it was: that look again. The same one he gave her right before they… before Ron interrupted them. "I-I, well I…" Why was it that he possessed the power to render her speechless so easily? She almost felt like doing the boldly Gryffindor thing and just kiss him already (yes, she had thought about it a lot since their first attempt), but something made her want to stretch it out a bit, and keep the ride going. She had to make him work harder than that. Hermione also wasn't confident that she was ready to take that next step yet. No, better to be cautious, she told herself._ No use in abandoning my reasonable side now; it's always seemed to work out for me._ But two could play at this game.

"I just know that Harry's willing to forgive people, even some of the foulest people on this planet," she said, sticking her nose up in apparent disdain.

"Ha, really, is that so?" snorted Draco.

"Yes, it is," said Hermione, managing to keep a straight face.

"Oh… okay."

They both laughed. Draco glanced down at his watch. "I should probably get going. I don't want to be late for Snape's lesson."

"No. I'll see you later."

"Right, we have Prefects' shift tonight together, don't we?"

"Yeah, I'll see you then," said Hermione. "Good luck with your father."

With his hand on the doorknob, he turned around and gave a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, thanks, I'll definitely be needing it. See you around, Granger."

"Bye." Sometimes she wished he would use her first name, but she didn't want to ask him; she wanted him to start using it on his own terms.

Since neither Harry nor Draco was going to Apparition testing, Snape believed it would be a good time to take advantage of by giving them another lesson. Today, he was teaching them something entirely different.

"Today," he said, "I will be teaching you how to duel."

They both looked at him questioningly.

"But, sir," Draco said, "we're already learning how to duel."

"Not that kind of a duel, Mr. Malfoy. No, what I'm talking about is called a Magician's Duel. It combines both skill in magical spells and the arts of the mind."

"What, so you use Occlumency and Legilimency as you battle?" asked Harry.

"Precisely, Mr. Potter."

"But… doesn't it seem like the person who Occludes best will win?" To Harry, it seemed that would be the only way to win. "If you always know what the other person is going to do in advance, then the first to block out their opponent out of their mind will win, won't they?"

"Even with the advantage of knowing another's spells — if you don't know the counter-spell — you could still lose," Snape pointed out. "Furthermore, you do not have to necessarily know your opponent's spell to block it, although it certainly helps."

"I feel like either of the two wizards would be outmatched and one person would die instantly," added Draco, "Or they would be evenly matched and the duel would end in a stalemate,"

"Why even do it? I mean, isn't dueling without having to worry about all of the complications of Occlumency and Legilimency difficult enough?" Harry wondered aloud.

"People generally only engage in this type of battle if they are confident in their own abilities," responded Snape. "Let me pose you a question: Why would you use it?"

"To gain an advantage," replied Draco.

"Exactly. You must fight and try and figure out your opponent's next move, while also hiding your own intentions. Do any of you see a problem with this?"

Harry thought of something. "The other person could be faking it — sending false images of what they were going to do."

Snape gave a curt nod. "Exactly. It is this principle that separates great duelists from the rest. Those who are the most adept at producing realistic and convincing creations have the most significant advantage."

"So basically," Harry tried to sum up, "the better liar will win?"

"In a way, yes," answered Snape. "It requires extremely quick thinking, adaptability, improvisation, and a level head. If you do not panic and understand your own limitations, you may have already gained an edge over your opponent."

"It sounds difficult," said Harry.

"It is. It is very difficult. That is why I'm going to teach you the proper way to engage in a Magician's Duel. Never engage anyone in this unless you are aware of their abilities. You will practice on each other and then I will continue to work with each of you individually. Let me warn you, those who are not practiced in this art will not fare well. Often, inexperienced Legilimens try and fight this way, and both participants end up dead."

By the end of the lesson, both Harry and Draco were mentally exhausted, and physically bruised, as well. After the joint lesson with Snape, Draco caught up with Harry in the hallway.

"Potter, wait."

Harry turned around and looked at Draco with questioning eyes. "What?"

He looked around to make sure no one else was in the hall before lowering his voice to say, "I'm supposed to meet my father outside Hogsmeade today and —"

"What does this have to do with me?"

"I was getting to that, Potter!" Draco closed his eyes and remembered Hermione's advice. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I'm just… really not looking forward to this. My point is, I need to get out of the castle unseen. Disillusionment or any other charm is risky at best… That's where you come in."

"How do you mean?"

"Come on, Potter. I know about the cloak. It'd really help me out."

"You want _my_ cloak?" said Harry, unyielding.

"I'll give it back; I'm not going to steal it or anything," Draco explained in exasperation. "Listen… I wouldn't be asking you if I didn't think I really needed it."

Harry sighed deeply, contemplating and appraising Draco. He must have seen the sincerity in Draco's voice and expression for, finally, he shrugged and said, "Fine."

Relief flooded through Draco; this would things much easier. "Thanks, Potter," he said quietly.

"But I don't want anything, _anything_, happening to that cloak, you understand me?"

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, I've got it, Mr. Potter, sir," he said sarcastically. Draco noticed that Harry seemed to be struggling with something else.

A few moments later and Draco couldn't take it anymore. "For God's sake, I promise I won't ruin your damned cloak, alright! So quit looking at me like that, will you?"

"No, it's not that."

Draco shifted. "Do you think you could go get it? I need it now, I'm leaving soon."

"I have it with me."

"So, can I have it, then?" asked Draco.

"Hold on a second."

Draco exhaled in impatience. _Honestly, what's he playing at? Hold on for what, _he thought?

Harry looked at Draco. "Meet me by the statue of the one-eyed witch."

"The statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor?" asked Draco, lifting a skeptical eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Why? You're not making sense, Potter."

"No questions; just meet me there in about ten minutes." Harry left before Draco could question him further, and so Draco had no choice but to do as Harry requested.

Harry meanwhile, ran upstairs to the common room and rummaged around his trunk until he found the Marauder's map, making certain that no one was in vicinity to the secret passage to Hogsmeade.

Once he got to the agreed upon meeting place, Malfoy was there waiting for him. He stuffed the map he was just looking at in his robe pocket before Malfoy could get a glimpse of the map; he wasn't willing to share all of his secrets.

"Alright, Potter. What gives?" the blond demanded.

Harry cut straight to the chase. "There's another way into Hogsmeade."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? Where?"

"You're looking at it." In response to Malfoy's confusion, Harry simply tapped the ugly, humpbacked witch with his wand and spoke, "Dissendium."

A small hole opened up in the statue as Malfoy looked on in amazement.

"It'll bring you out to the Honeydukes cellar," explained Harry.

"No way."

"It does, trust me. Or do you think this is some elaborate prank?"

Draco turned sharply to look back at Harry. "This is how you came our third year, and got back — that day you threw the mud at us."

Harry smirked. "Still remember that, do you?"

"Ha, ha, very funny," Malfoy remarked dryly. "I don't — why did you show this to me?"

"I don't actually want you to get caught, Malfoy," Harry replied.

"But — how did you find this?" asked Malfoy in wonder.

"With the help of Fred and George," replied Harry. It was true enough.

"Hmm. Possibly the only Weasleys I could ever stand."

Harry gave him a pointed look to which Malfoy quickly declared, "And the Weaselette — I mean, Ginny — is not all that bad either, I suppose… when she isn't trying to curse me."

"Just go, Malfoy."

"Right." With his lengthy frame, clambering into the passage opening was awkward, but once he was inside he turned to Harry. "Er, thanks, Potter."

"Don't mention it. Really, don't tell anybody."

"Like I was going to say anything to anyone," said Malfoy, rolling his eyes.

Harry just shook his head. "Goodbye, Malfoy." And the statue closed over him leaving no trace of Malfoy behind.

Harry returned to the common room to wait for Hermione and Ron, who were at their Apparition test right about now.

"How'd it go?" he asked when they got back.

"Great! I passed!" Hermione exclaimed happily.

_Surprise, surprise_, thought Harry. "Well done!" he congratulated her. "And you, Ron?"

Harry got his other answer from Ron's downtrodden expression.

"Half an eyebrow," Ron said grumpily.

"It really was quite harsh," supplied Hermione. Ron gave a look that she clearly was not helping matters.

Harry wasn't sure what either of them was talking about.

"I left behind half an eyebrow, and they fail me. Rather nitpicky, don't you think?"

"Sorry, Ron. That's just bad luck; I wouldn't worry about it. You'll get it next time, when we can both take it together."

"Yeah," grunted Ron, not mollified.

"Harry's right, Ron, you'll get it nex —"

"Anyways, I'm going to go talk to Seamus," Ron said loudly, talking over her. "I'll see you later, Harry."

"Ron, wait." When he didn't stop, she grabbed his arm. "Ron, please!"

"What?" he said fiercely. "What do you want?"

"Ron, I know things didn't work out between us, but you're still one of my best friends. I'm sorry for what happened," Hermione said desperately, "but I don't want to lose your friendship."

"I have to go," Ron said coldly.

Harry looked on helplessly as Hermione stood forlornly, gazing away with unfocused eyes.

. *** .

"So how goes your attempts to befriend Potter?"

"Well, father."

"And the female?"

Draco looked up sharply. The '_female?'_ Seriously? Were they still speaking of human beings or weren't they?

"Yes," said Lucius. "Word of your dalliance with one Miss Granger has reached my ears, _my son_."

The two of them stood on the edges of Hogsmeade, in a small nook of trees by the foot of the mountains.

"She's smarter than the other two," Draco told his father. "I have to charm her in order to suppress her suspicions," replied Draco, trying to hide his own rising panic by drawing on his Occlumency techniques. If his father knew about this, then there was no telling who else knew, too. If the wrong people had found out, then Hermione — both of them — were in danger. _Who could have done this_?_ They had been careful_.

"And you are quite sure that is necessary, son? Involving yourself with Mudbloods," he sniffed in disdain, "the very thought —"

"Don't call her that!" said Draco, no longer able to contain his anger. It was over, he could tell his father already knew; there was no point in lying.

"Ah, so you do care for her, then," he said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"And you won't tell anyone." It wasn't a request, it wasn't even a threat. It was a fact.

"Won't I?" his father inquired and appearing somewhat amused.

"No, because if you do, the Dark Lord will accuse both of us of betrayal."

The amusement left his father's eyes in a flash. "Yes, well, it was quite foolish of you to become involved with… _her_," he spat.

"It won't compromise my mission," Draco promised his father, "I don't care about Potter."

"See to it that it doesn't," his father warned.

"It won't," Draco said haughtily this time.

"It had better not…" His father let the threat hang in the air. In his mind, Draco thought how laughable this was considering he had met the Dark Lord himself in person. _You're not as scary as you think you are, father. I'm not a little boy anymore._ "So tell me, Draco, what will you do with her when all of this is done? Do you really think you can go through with all of this? Even if she were to survive, I highly doubt she would take kindly to you assisting to eliminate her friend."

"She doesn't have to know about this."

"And who's to say she won't find out elsewhere?" he threatened. "I may not tell the Dark Lord about your affection for the wretched Muggle-born, but what might prevent _me_ from disclosing this information to her?" he posed, as if pondering a rhetorical question.

"She won't believe you. It's my word over yours," Draco said confidently.

"Indeed?" his father queried supremely. "We shall see, my son."

_Yes, we will_, thought Draco.

Draco didn't remember much else from his reunion with his father. The fact that someone had either found about him and Hermione spending time together, or that someone betrayed them, weighed on his mind during the rest of the meeting like a heavy, black cloud.

Once he got back to Hogwarts using the secret passage shown to him by Potter, he donned the Invisibility Cloak and ran up to the Gryffindor Tower. He didn't want to send a note in case that was how they were found out; he didn't want to take any chance that their communications were being intercepted. So, he sat and waited by the entrance of the Fat Lady (he knew that's where the common room was hidden), until Potter or Granger happened to come out. What else could he do? Snape would only tell him off for not being careful and Dumbledore didn't appear to be inside the school at the present time.

A few people came out, and he waited for almost an hour before he saw someone he could trust.

"Weasley!" he whispered.

Weasley looked around in confusion, but then made to walk off, seeming to dismiss it as hearing things.

"No, wait, it's me!" he said, peeking out from under the cloak.

Ginny eyes widened in recognition before he lowered the hood back over his face, in the event that someone walked by. "Your boyfriend let me borrow his cloak."

"Yes, he mentioned something about that."

"Complained more like, I bet… I hope he didn't say that in front of other people."

"Of course, not. He's not an idiot, you know." For the first time, he heard a bit of animosity in her voice, but he chalked it up to her being overly protective of the Boy-Who-Needed-Attention. But he ignored her minor grievance; there were more pressing matters to discuss.

"Listen, I need to talk to Granger. Potter, too, if he can. It's important."

Maybe it was the urgency in his voice, for she didn't question him. "They're both in the common room; I'll go get them."

"We have to be careful," he said before she disappeared back behind the portrait hole. "No one can see us together. Have them meet me in the Room of Requirement." Why he hadn't thought of that place before, or Hermione hadn't for that matter, he didn't know.

He paced around the room, which became no more than a simple area with a few armchairs and a fireplace, until the others arrived. Granger came in, followed by Potter, and then, Weasley — the male version.

"I decided to come along, too," said Ron. "I wanted to know what was going on. You got a problem with that?" he asked belligerently.

"No, actually, it's better that you're here," answered Draco. Everyone looked at him in surprise. "Why don't you tell them what you've done? I understand you don't like me, but how could you do that to your own friends!"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! You just couldn't handle it, could you? Too angry, too jealous? You're pathetic, Weasley," spat Draco.

"The git has gone mad!"

"Draco, what — ?"

"My father found out!"

"Found out you're a spy? Oh, no! What —?"

"No! He found out — he knew… He somehow knows that you and I have been —"

"What making kissy faces?"

"Shut up, Weasley, I'm warning you."

"Or what? You're gonna scare me to death with all your Death Eater know-how?"

Harry grabbed Draco around the waist when he started after Ron.

"Ron! That's a terrible thing to say," Hermione exclaimed.

"Is it so terrible if it's true? What, you think he's right?"

"Of course I don't, but —"

"But what, Hermione?"

"Ron, just stay out of this."

"Me? _He's_ the one who's accusing me of —"

"Ron, not right now," interjected Harry firmly. This was beginning to get out of hand. If someone didn't step in soon, things could get ugly.

"Whose side are you on, Harry?"

"We're on the same side, Ron!" he shouted back in exasperation.

Ron stayed quiet enough for Hermione to finally talk. "Draco, I know you're scared, but —"

"Who says I'm scared?"

"I know you're upset," she rephrased to mollify him, "but this is insane. It's not Ron, and you know it."

Draco sighed. "Then who? Someone told my father. Luckily, no one's told… _him_, yet. But only a few people knew that I turned. If no one said anything, then someone found out."

"But we were careful, I'm sure no one saw us together."

"You didn't look like you were being careful the other day," Ron said crossly.

"Not now, Ron," snapped Hermione.

"Ron has a point," said Harry, "You guys need to be more careful. No one here ratted him out, and I know Ginny wouldn't say anything. It obviously wasn't Snape or Dumbledore…"

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "I know. I can't believe I let this happen."

"Well, how do you think I feel? We need to find whoever it is," claimed Draco.

"And how're you going to manage to that, if you don't mind me asking?" huffed Ron haughtily.

"I don't know! But we have to do something! Whoever it is will be looking to give out that information to the highest bidder." None of them had ever seen Malfoy this distressed before.

"Look, no one has proof," said Harry, trying to keep a calm head amidst everyone else's panic. "And even if word got back to Voldemort, he knows you're supposed to be trying to get close to us anyhow. That's supposed to be your mission, isn't it?"

"Yes, but my father knows it's more than that." Hermione looked back at Draco, worried.

"Will he tell anyone?" asked Harry.

Draco gave a shake of his head. "No, I made sure that he wouldn't."

"Then we don't need to worry about it for now."

"But —"

"What do you suggest we do?" Harry questioned to the room.

No one spoke.

"Look, I'll get someone on it. In the meantime, just make sure you're being careful. Otherwise, there's nothing we can do right now. But we need to tell Dumbledore and Snape; we need to let them know."

"Get someone on it? What are you, some kind of crime boss, Potter?"

Harry smiled. "No, I just have really good helpers."

Hermione didn't like the look in his eye. "Harry —"

"Kreacher! Dobby!"

There was a small _poof_, and the two house-elves materialized out of thin air.

"My old house-elf?" cried Draco in disbelief. "Have you gone mental, Potter?"

Ignoring him, Harry said, "You two, I've got a new assignment for you when you've got the time. We think someone's been spying on Malfoy, here. I want to know who it is. Give them a taste of their own medicine; but make sure you aren't seen."

"Yes, Master." Kreacher bowed. It was the first time he hadn't complained about an assignment. Dobby, however, was looking over at his old master dubiously.

"Don't worry, Dobby," Harry assured him. "He's on our side now."

Dobby still looked unsure, so Harry leaned over and whispered to Draco, "Now would be the time to say something nice to him… or apologize."

Draco scoffed. "Apologize? Apologize for what?"

"Malfoy…"

"Alright," Draco sighed, leaning down to address the small creature that was once his servant. "Dobby, I know I wasn't the best master. But will you please help me now?"

"You are a friend of Harry Potter's now?" he asked cautiously.

Draco hesitated.

"Yeah, he's a friend. Please, help him, Dobby. I would really appreciate it." The other three turned around to look at Harry with varying degrees of shock.

This seemed to make up Dobby's mind. The elf gave a kind of salute. "Yes, Harry Potter, sir. It will be done."

"Thanks a ton, and it's just Harry —"

"Dobby will do as you ask, sir."

"Harry…" he insisted again.

"Dobby and Kreacher will be seeing you soon, sir." And with that, the two of them vanished.

"I really wish he would just call me Harry."

. *** .

Later that week on Friday, the older students attended their second dueling session. Harry had learned a lot that could prove very helpful in the future. He almost wished a couple of Death Eaters would attack him while he was out so he could test his new methods. Almost. He dueled Malfoy, and it was a hard fought contest. By the end, there was no clear winner. Only Hermione could match up against him as well as Malfoy, but Harry knew Hermione too well, and they would eventually end in a stalemate, too, except Hermione was too defensive and non-spontaneous to gain the upper hand. But Neville's improvement from last year was the most obvious difference to Harry. He was almost as good as Malfoy and Hermione. In their first lesson, he lost to Harry himself and Hermione, but other than that, he defeated everyone else he dueled with relative ease. Harry was curious to see how Neville would do tonight because they were all supposed to be using nonverbal spells exclusively for this lesson. But for some reason, Harry didn't see Neville around anywhere at the moment… Ron finally got a hang on nonverbal spells, which lightened his mood somewhat, but he still wasn't talking to Hermione.

Suddenly, Harry saw Ginny running towards him; she was trying to jostle and jockey her way through the sizable crowd flooding out of the Great Hall.

"Harry! Harry!" she shouted.

Once he reached her he asked, "What? What is it?"

She took a moment to catch her breath and then said, "It's Neville."

Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione all ran to the hospital wing. When they entered, all they could see was McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey surrounding a bed. Also there was —

"Cho?"

"Oh, hi, Harry. I've been working with Madame Pomfrey this year, observing and sometimes helping… I want to be a Healer," she said by way of explanation.

"Oh, I see. Good for you." But he was distracted when an opening presented Neville, battered and badly hurt. His arms were covered with bruises and scratches, and his neck was black and blue. But worst, were the deep gashes across his face. Three red lines streaked slantwise from outer the corner of his right eyebrow to about four centimeters past his hairline.

"Can't you get rid of those?" asked Hermione aghast.

"He needs rest right now, not visitors," ordered Madame Pomfrey succinctly, yet not unkindly.

"Please," said Neville in a hoarse voice, "Let them stay for a while."

The matron sighed. "Five minutes, but no longer," she said in a firm tone that booked no argument. Just then, Seamus and Dean appeared at the door.

"No! No more just now. You'll have to wait your turn," she said, shooing them away. "This is a hospital, not a party palace. This room isn't made for a bundle of visitors." She returned to her work, tsk-ing in apparent disapproval.

"What happened, Neville?" asked Harry.

"I was visiting my parents with my gran. When we walked out, two men attacked us, and I paid for it. I was able to hold them off — well, mostly — until the Aurors arrived. Then they Disapparated away. You wouldn't believe how proud it made my gran. Anyway… I think — Harry, I think they were Death Eaters."

"Why were they after you?"

"I don't know, they said something about what happened at the Ministry last summer, but —"

"So, it's because you helped me!"

"Harry, don't —"

"I knew it. I always knew something like this would happen." He walked over to the window, folding his arms and breathing in deeply, ignoring the protestations of his friends. Something had to be done. This had to end.

"Harry!"

It was Neville. "Don't think for a second I regret helping you, because I don't. This is a war, people are going to get hurt, and if we're being honest, I got off easy. I'm not going to shy away; I've chosen which side I'm on. It has nothing to do with you."

Despite Neville's speech, Harry still felt the misgivings and doubt.

"Those DA lessons really helped out, by the way," Neville added.

"Oh, can't you do anything about those cuts?" Hermione asked Madame Pomfrey, who just walked in the door.

"Unfortunately not. They will heal in time, but the magic possessed some kind of toxin. I gave him the antidote, but not before some of the damage became irreversible. He will have those marks forever."

"Don't worry," said Neville. "I'm not fretting over my pretty face."

They all laughed.

Then Ron said, "You don't have a thing to worry about, Neville. Those scars are going to look mighty impressive. They'll make you look tough: instant chick magnet."

Laughing some more, everyone was reminded that the visit had run over its time limit by the mediwitch.

But throughout the weekend, Harry continued to be bothered by the fact that Neville was put in mortal danger, merely because of his association with Harry himself. Although he was glad that Neville was alright, that fact still disturbed him greatly. Ron's prediction, however, was proven to be right. Neville was getting a lot of attention because of his scars and Harry heard some third years gushing over how 'cool' Neville was. Neville, while grateful, seemed rather embarrassed by all of the attention. But Harry was happy for him. Usually, the attention was because Neville was being made fun of. But the boy that could have easily owned Harry's own fate was brave and loyal, and deserved such adoration.

Currently, Harry was walking the familiar path down to Dumbledore's office, having just received a note from the Headmaster. Once atop the spiraling staircase, he knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Upon walking in, Harry immediately noticed that something was wrong. Dumbledore sat behind his desk; the somberness in his eyes were what alerted Harry.

"Sir, you wanted me to come see you? What's wrong?"

Dumbledore sat in silence for a couple of seconds, and then said, "It seems that I was wrong about the nature of the Horcruxes. I underestimated their strength."

"What do you mean?" Harry saw that the old, damaged diary that once belonged to Voldemort was sitting on the desktop.

"I thought that the Horcrux inside was destroyed. But what really happened is that the fragment of soul was so diminished, that it was too weak to detect. But I have noticed that over time, the Horcrux has begun to slowly repair itself and not only that, but grow stronger. It still retains a piece of Voldemort's soul."

Harry remembered as clear as day the moment he plunged the basilisk fang deep into the heart of the diary as black ink spurted out like blood from a fatal wound… the phantom Riddle writhing as if in pain and then, disappearing entirely. "But the diary, it was destroyed! How else would Ginny have — ?"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said gravely, "It was damaged, but not permanently. It was enough to break Tom Riddle's hold over Ginny, but the overall result is much the same as what happened to Lord Voldemort when he failed to kill you." Harry unconsciously leaned in, listening intently. "We know that the part of his soul residing in Voldemort's body was not destroyed. It only needed to find another body in which to anchor its life-force. The diary was damaged, but it is regaining its strength. But as an inanimate object, the Horcux has no need for a living host. Soon, it will become a full Horcrux again."

"You mean Voldemort can never be destroyed! His soul will keep coming back?" Harry cried out in dismay.

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said quickly to allay his fears.

"What about Ginny, will she —?"

"Harry, please calm down. I will explain everything I know."

"Sorry, sir," said Harry somewhat abashed and sitting back down, for he had stood up in his anxiety.

"Do not be sorry, you are not in the wrong for being concerned." He paused. "To answer your last question, no, there is no imminent threat to Ginny Weasley. If the Horcrux still retained a hold of Miss Weasley, the memory-Riddle would have continued to grow stronger, until it retained a likeness of Voldemort himself — albeit a younger and more handsome one. The basilisk fang momentarily wounded the Horcrux, but more importantly, cut off its connection to its victim. Ginny is no longer attached to Tom Riddle's diary and as long as that remains to be the case, it poses no danger to her." Harry nodded and let out a sigh of relief. "And this does not mean that Voldemort cannot be defeated. He is immortal, but not invincible." Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from bursting with questions. "What this does mean is that, in all likelihood, the Horcruxes cannot be destroyed through conventional means. My guess is that the venom of the basilisk was only enough to cause serious harm to the Horcrux. I have attempted to destroy it magically, but have not yet found any success. I will, of course, keep trying. The Horcruxes, along with Lord Voldemort, can and will be destroyed… we only have to discover how."

"But how do you know they can be destroyed if we haven't successfully managed to do it yet?" Harry couldn't keep himself from asking.

"There is a way, of that I am sure." He held up a hand to hold off Harry's forthcoming question. "I know for a fact, that the process can be reversed. But I would rather not have to depend on Tom's ability to feel remorse."

"You mean, if he feels sorry, he can be whole again?" wondered Harry. How you could feel nothing for murdering innocents in the first place already baffled Harry. But choosing to live like that when you had another choice was beyond him.

"Indeed. But I do not believe even Voldemort himself is aware of this, and I would be astounded if he would choose to follow that path were it presented to him. His soul has been mutilated, and there is little hope that any humanity resides in him still. I have not dismissed the idea entirely, but only as a last chance to give him the opportunity to avoid the terrible fate that undoubtedly awaits him. In any case, our best bet is to find a way to destroy his Horcruxes."

Harry nodded his head somberly.

"Do not be discouraged, Harry. I am confident that we will find a way."

Dumbledore was right. There had to be a way. If the process could be reversed, that meant the Horcruxes were not indestructible. His resolve transformed his despair into a fierce determination. "Alright," he said. Upon seeing this change, Dumbledore eyes gleamed with an energy that Harry found contagious. He would put forth everything he had in the effort to finally defeat the shadow that had hung over him since his birth. "Let's do this."

. *** .

For the next couple of weeks, Harry was solely concentrated upon one thing: to find ways of destroying Voldemort. Eventually, he'd have to face him, so learning to master Legilimency was near the top of his to-do list. His other time was spent researching and finding anything he could about Horcruxes.

In the Room of Requirement, Harry was scrambling around looking for something — anything — that would aid him in achieving Voldemort's defeat. Memories — any memory he had of Voldemort be it through his own experiences or another's — were running, not in a Pensieve, but like projections along the bare walls of the room (the room had been most helpful in supplying this tool). He was pouring over books on both Legilimency and Dark Magic, both from the library (a few trips into the Restricted Section with his trusty cloak helped him with that) and the tomes provided in the expansive room; he had even purchased a couple from a catalogue. He was searching desperately for anything that would help him crack the riddle that was Lord Voldemort.

It was difficult because it was hard to know exactly what would prove useful until after the fact. But he was going to make every preparation possible to invade Voldemort's mind. If anyone knew how the Horcruxes could be destroyed, it was Voldemort. And when Harry finally confronted him, it would most likely be in a Magician's Duel. He felt lost in a sea of potential knowledge. Nothing was ever going to be enough. He willed himself to cram every scrap of relevant information into his brain. There was so much to learn, with so little time to learn it, and his mind could only take so much. But he forced it to retain everything like a sponge, then stored it carefully into his own Pensieve. And then there were the Horcruxes… He was getting nowhere on those. He looked at any opportunity to obtain any manuscript that would mention the ever elusive Horcruxes. But this was a task in itself because brazenly requesting information on Horcruxes could get back to Voldemort. Voldemort must not discover that anyone else was privy to that information.

This myriad of thoughts was making Harry's brain go haywire. He forced himself to relax for a moment, practicing his Occlumency techniques. Instead of emptying his emotions, he strived to strip his mind until it was devoid of all thought. Rather than close off his mind protectively, he allowed it to be receptive to all nothingness. Any notion that he might have was swallowed into the void. Every glimmer of an idea was snuffed out in a vacuum of empty space. He allowed himself to fall deeper into the abyss. Completely relaxing his mind and forgetting anything that might swirl in his head, he let loose any thought or emotion he had ever experienced, and even his own identity. But amidst the blankness, Harry could feel impressions that were not of his own making. _Was he having another vision_? It didn't feel like one. It felt like nothing he had ever experienced before. He tried to close off his mind, but couldn't. He could no longer feel the confines of his mind and was completely open to everything. It made him feel vulnerable and overexposed — like he was naked in the dark [2]. He didn't like it. There were no words to describe what he was experiencing. His mind was perceiving things in ways that his body — which he could no longer feel — could not sense.

_Do not try to fight it_, something seemed to say to him. But again, he felt it or thought it more than he heard it. But he knew that it had not come from him. He began to panic. _Where am I? What is this?_

_Search your mind. And you will discover what you already know._

When Harry left this place, he would have the utmost difficulty in trying to explain this event. He had no sensation of sight, sound, taste, touch or smell. He had no knowledge of time or space. There was no substance to his being. Thoughts were tangible things and reacted like living entities. Words and language were not used here and were rough approximations of its true nature; but that is precisely the medium Harry had to utilize in order to communicate what he experienced once he returned. To compound matters, the closest translation he could think of did not always make sense [3]. It shattered the barriers of everything he thought he knew. It was indescribable.

_It is reality. Reality in its truest form._

What did _that_ mean?

_Mean? It means nothing. We have no use for such things here. It simply is. Everything exists, nothing more._

_Who are you?_ Harry asked.

_I am. That is the extent of my purpose. Whatever I may have been called no longer retains any meaning. I exist in a network of the essence of this domain. But for you, you are not of this place and so cannot fully realize what you are experiencing. It is because of this that I have reached out to you, and we have attempted to create a more tangible and physical environment for you._

_This _is tangible? Harry thought in amazement. He got the impression that whoever it was, was laughing.

_For us_,_ there are no temporal or spatial boundaries_._ Only intuition guides us. Things simply are_,_ there is no here or there_,_ no past or future_._ I understand this is difficult for you to comprehend_. _I was once as you are now_, _and though I can remember_, _it scarcely means anything to me anymore_. _It is a part of my essence_, _who I am_, _but the memories are hard to fully understand when this is all I know_. _It feels like yesterday_, _and at the same time_, _an eternity since I have existed in my physical form_.

_You have heard of me_, the strange being continued,_ and I know who you are, Harry Potter. Not only what you have done as your peers do, but who you are at your very core. It's all right here. _That unsettled Harry quite a bit._ You will not come to harm. It is not in our nature._ There were no secrets here, Harry could see. _N_o, the unknown entity expressed teasingly.

Oh, so it has humor, Harry thought drily.

_I am who was once known as Regulus Arcturus Black. Yes_, he said in response to Harry's recognition_, the very same._

_What is this place? You said I knew it, but I've never heard of anything like this before_, asked Harry.

_Do you not remember? You heard when others could not, because you allowed yourself to listen. You were captivated by it, as I remember. Its mystique has been debated by many._

Mystique?

_There was one other with you who was sensitive to our presence. Your other friends were rather concerned with your fascination with it. But you are drawn to it because it is ingrained within your very soul. And you have been touched by this place as no one else living has._

And then it hit him: _The Department of Mysteries!_

_Yes, the Veil of Mystery it is called. It is merely a portal to this Realm. Heaven, Paradise, Nirvana, Avalon, Zion, the 4th dimension… it has many names. But none of them are really true._

Did that mean… _Does this mean Sirius is here?_ _Could I meet my parents?_

_Yes, they are here. But you should leave now. It would not do well to dwell here overlong._

_But why? _Harry's fresh excitement began to subside.

_You can lose yourself. This is our natural place. Everyone's_._ This is where the consciousness will eventually find its resting place once you are cut from your physical bonds._

_You mean your soul?_

_Yes, the soul as it is more commonly referred to… Harry, this experience will already be overwhelming for you. The prospect of seeing loved ones again may seem too appealing. But your work is not yet done in the terrestrial sphere. When you return you may, at first, not believe that anything has transpired, that it was purely the creation of your imagination._

_And it's not? _Harry had to ascertain this was not just a dream.

_In a sense, yes. Only our thoughts exist here and dreams are as real as what you call reality. Impossibilities do not constrain us, and infinity is as concrete as you and I are. But that is a concept your mind will not allow you to fully conceptualize. You are still blinded by your physical connections. But it is real. It is more real than anything else. It is in your waking physical existence where things are furthest from the truth; a mere representation of who you really are. But I can see that I am already tiring your mind. To answer your question, this is not simply a product of your over-exertion._

Harry's mind was swimming with confusion.

_It is not our place to interfere, but before you go, I must tell you that that which you are trying to achieve can only be realized once balance is restored here. Only you have the power to do that._

_Balance?_

_Something lurks here which does not belong._

_Like me? _asked Harry.

_No, something much more sinister in nature. We cannot banish it, but it threatens to tear apart the very fabric of nature. But there is no time to speak of it now. You must go. __I have no doubt we will meet again, Harry Potter. And you will have ample opportunity to speak with your parents again… as well as my brother. But that time is not now. Trust me on this._

_How do I get back?_ Harry asked. What if he was stuck here forever? He began to panic again.

_You are the only one to have entered here in this manner, but here, knowledge is endless. Because of this, I can tell you that for the first time, going back is less difficult than getting here. You will be able to return. I must admit, I was at first surprised you were able to accomplish this while conscious. Those who have entered here have done so directly — and none of them have ever returned, or else during slumber in a deep state of relaxation, when the level of their subconscious is at its greatest. And very few have ever even achieved that. They, of course, believed it to be nothing more than a whimsical dream, or forgot. There are those who strive to seek us out and meditate to reach a state of Nirvana, or absolute truth, but even fewer are successful in that endeavor._

_Now, listen carefully_, Regulus spoke more urgently,_ I need you to search — you are searching for something that resembles a flicker of light._

Harry looked, but all he could sense was a vast expanse of obscure haziness. But then… there it was, in the distance. Well, space didn't exist here, but he would describe it as being just beyond his reach. It was nothing like seeing a light far away in a dense darkness, but he could feel a pinprick of the vaguely familiar.

_Yes, that will be your anchor to the Physical Realm. Follow it; do not wander astray. As you traverse its course, everything will become more recognizable._

_Okay_, Harry 'said' uncertainly. _Thanks._

_You need not thank me. We will meet again. Next time, I imagine you will be back with more questions. _As Regulus stated this, there was no doubt in Harry's mind that it was true. It was as if lies could not be told here, as if it were not possible. _And one more thing, do not attempt to come back here unless you deem it absolutely necessary. _Harry expressed his devout promise to do so. _Now, grasp your anchor firmly in your mind, and do not let it escape._ Harry did as he was told, and soon felt the strange sensations ebbing away. The presence he had felt was ripped away, and as he imagined he was traveling down a wire to his other world, he felt oddly claustrophobic and restrained. He felt a prickling sensation, actually physically felt it this time. He must be getting closer…

Suddenly he inhaled, as if gasping his first breath of life. He opened his eyes and felt his face and looked down to see his body. He gave a sigh of relief. That definitely had to be the most bizarre thing he had ever experienced. It took a few moments for his heart to stop racing and his breathing to regulate. Already, he could feel his conversation with Regulus slipping away, but his Pensieve would correct that. But what would he see? He didn't have any recollection of actually seeing anything. It was perfectly understandable when you were immersed in it, but now that Harry had returned to _this_ world, he had already forgotten just exactly how it felt in the _other_ world. It was even more difficult to try to focus into words. Regardless, he extracted the memory and placed it within a small vial. This memory looked somehow clearer than the rest.

_Was it real? _It had to be. It had felt so real. But now that Harry had taken some time to calm down, doubt started to creep into his mind. _It is real. It is more real than anything else…_ No, it _was_ real. He was sure of it. Every fiber of his being told him it was real. It was just the bizarre nature of everything that made him want to dismiss it. It just clashed with everything _this_ reality testified of.

_What just happened?_ thought Harry.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 20:

It's Spring Break and a wedding is on the way, and the Malfoys are set to be staying with Harry at Grimmauld Place which should make for an interesting time. But first, Harry gets closer to solving the problem of the missing Horcrux. Something else is weighing down on Harry, as he prepares to do something he desperately wishes to avoid. He also tries to explain his bizarre experience, and begins to wonder if it is all a part of something bigger.

"_I must say," said Dumbledore while Harry helped himself to a lemon drop, "that is one of the most extraordinary things I have ever heard. Even more extraordinary is that the only living person known to do this stands before me."_

"_But why am I the only one who can? I don't understand."_

"_It is no coincidence, I think, that you are the only one, it seems, who can do this. Can you think of nothing else that sets you apart from everyone else? I think you'll find that the answer is simpler than you might think."_

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] I actually got this idea from _Star Trek_: "Emotional transference is an effect of the mind meld."

[2] I got this from Peter Jackson's _The Lord of the Rings_. Great films. Based on great books.

[3] For example, something that initially feels more like 'home' would need to be replaced by a word like 'place', or 'links' to 'associates'. I'm sorry if this is confusing. But Harry isn't actually in a physical place. It's really hard to describe.

A/N:

My sincerest apologies if Snape seems OOC at any point in this chapter, especially when he confronts Harry about his mother. But Snape knows that he has to tell Harry about everything once he learns that Harry knows that he divulged parts of the prophecy to Voldemort. He resigns to this fact and understands it's the only way that he can continue to function in the Order without everyone else finding out about his role in the Potters' demise.

So, writing about the 'Realm' is extremely difficult to do. It's easy enough to envision inside your own head, but to relay something so intangible in words is hardly an easy task, at least for me. It is supposed to be a place where physical sensation simply does not exist, but thoughts have to be communicated somehow. Therefore, I have to translate it into words, even though the characters aren't really talking. I hope I haven't succeeded in confusing you more. So when I use words such a 'feel', 'said,' or 'saw,' that I don't _really_ mean that. The characters are sensing what's happening in a much different way than anything we experience in our lives. It's a rather abstract idea, maybe a bit too ambitious for me as I believe my writing inadequately depicts it. Anyways, I'm sure you all understand. You're smart, right? My real fear was that it might be somewhat boring for readers. It's hard to be objective when it's your own story, so any thoughts or suggestions you might have would be welcome.

Also, I know Regulus wasn't a major character in the books and, indeed, never even made an appearance. But he'll still seem a bit OOC from what we've heard about him in the books. My reasoning is that the 'Realm' changes people. Spending their time in such a mystic place will have that effect. He's going to sound different in his spirit-form than when he was alive. In other words, if I ever wrote a story about Regulus while he was alive, he wouldn't sound anything like he does in this story.

Just a side note, but how I depict the Realm isn't actually the way I imagine heaven or anything, just in Harry Potter. I actually don't believe in a god or an afterlife (I hope this doesn't offend anyone, but I know plenty of people who are judgmental). But I have no problems with people who do believe and I don't have problems when people include an afterlife or gods in fiction, either. Then again, I don't have problems with magic, witches or wizards either. Anything's pretty much up for grabs in writing stories. That's why they're fiction. It's all about creativity and believable characters.

Signing off,

fanster


	21. The Wedding

A special thanks to **kelwin** for reviewing my story.

I mentioned this on my profile, but perhaps you did not see… After this, there are four more chapters to go. I am currently finishing Chapter 21. Because of this, I am pushing my updates to one per every three weeks. This means my next update will be on February 9th. Sorry, but I have been very busy with school. Hopefully, I can write the other three chapters fast enough to keep up with this pace, but every two weeks would have been much too fast. But I can guarantee the next update will remain the same. Thank you for your patience. After that, again, I must apologize, but I probably won't be posting the first chapter of the sequel until much later. The earliest I expect to get that up is this coming fall and that's optimistic. Studying is taking up pretty much all of my time and I work during the summer. But once it is summer, I should have more time to dedicate to writing.

DISCLAIMER: I had a dream last night that I owned Harry Potter… and then I woke up.

So I decided to mix it up and throw some trivia questions in my footnotes. It mainly involves having you guys guess which movies some of my quotes have come from. I don't know why, but I must have been in the mood for this lately, because I have a few in the next chapter, too.

* * *

Chapter 20

The Wedding

"Hermione! Hermione!" shouted Harry, running into the common room.

"Hermione," panted Harry once he reached his friend, "I know who R.A.B. is."

He recounted all that he could remember from his encounter, which was a difficult feat; it was like trying to describe color to someone who couldn't see [1]. After he reassured her again and again that what had happened wasn't merely a weird dream, Hermione sat open-mouthed in amazement.

"I can't believe that, I've never heard of anything like that before." Hermione's brow furrowed slightly as she inspected him more closely. "That was really dangerous, Harry."

"Well, it's not like I did it on purpose! How was I supposed to know that was going to happen?"

"You're right, I just — these types of things always seem to happen to you."

"Tell me about it. Most of the time it's not a good thing, though."

"So, it was Sirius' brother?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah, weird, huh?"

"It's definitely a strange coincidence."

"Maybe it wasn't a coincidence," stated Harry, and the two of them shared a significant look.

"It fits, too," said Harry. "Sirius told me his brother became a Death Eater when he was young, but he got cold feet and tried to leave. That's why he was killed."

"So when he became disenchanted with it all," said Hermione, following Harry's logic, "he wanted to help bring about Voldemort's downfall."

"Exactly."

"Do you have any idea where the locket might be? Did he tell you where it is, or if he ever destroyed it?" asked Hermione.

"I had other things on my mind, Hermione," Harry said a bit defensively. He felt a little stupid that he hadn't thought to ask, but it was easy say now that he wasn't in that extremely subliminal and otherworldly place, if you could even call it a place.

"I know, I just…" Suddenly, she stopped, with the dumbstruck look of someone who had just been Obliviated.

"What?" asked Harry.

"The locket…"

"Yes… the locket… What about it?" He clearly wasn't following the same train of thought as she was.

"When we were cleaning the house… In the drawing room — nobody could open it…"

Harry's head was reeling as though he were hit with a ton of bricks. He even remembered that they had passed it around, each of them trying to pry it open. It had been tossed aside along with the musical box that caused everyone to fall into a stupor upon listening to the melodic tune.

"Yes! I remember!" exclaimed Harry. "Do you think Kreacher knows where it is? He might have it; he was always trying to pilfer things from our pile."

"I hope so, I doubt something like that can be Summoned."

"Well, that'll be worth a shot, we'll just have to be on guard for anything odd."

"But anyone could've picked up, not even knowing what it really was!"

"But that limits it to people inside the Order at least. During our Easter break, we can look. Can you come over some time?"

"Of course, I can. I'll just go with you when you leave Hogwarts, if that's alright with you. I'll stay until the wedding and then I'll spend the remainder with my parents."

"That sounds good." Harry paused and ran his hands through his hair. "You know how much of a relief it would be to find one at last?"

Hermione's excitement was evident. "That'll make everything you and Dumbledore went through well worth it, don't you think? I wonder what —"

"Don't mind me," said an angry voice.

Harry and Hermione turned to see an irritated Ron.

"Ron, we didn't know you were here," explained Harry.

"Of course, you didn't. Why would you? Why would either of you think I might be interested? I'm just too stupid to care, aren't I?" said Ron viciously.

"First of all," said Harry, "You haven't exactly been talking to Hermione lately, so why would she want to talk to you?"

Ron opened his mouth, but before he could give an angry retort, Harry continued. "Secondly, don't you think you're overreacting a bit? It's not like I wasn't going to tell you."

"But you ran off to Hermione first. Don't deny it, you didn't even think about me! You were just excited to tell her everything, not me."

It was true, Harry had gone to see Hermione first, but that's just because… well, it was natural for him to do that. Ron had been spending more time with Dean and Seamus lately. And in all the time Ron had been with his former girlfriend or had been avoiding them because he was upset with Hermione, Harry had to admit that he had become a bit closer to her. She was the one he spent the majority of his time with. But whose fault was that? Ron was being extremely petty in Harry's opinion. If Ron wanted to be a part of it, he should get over his disappointment and act more like an adult.

Hermione tried to reach out to him. "Ron —"

"No, I understand," he said, though his tone seemed to indicate the opposite was true. "Why don't you go find the Death Eater and tell him? I mean, seeing as you guys seem to want to replace me with him."

The way Ron was acting lately, Harry rather thought that might not be a bad idea at the moment. Of course, he didn't really believe that, but he had half a mind to tell that to Ron if it would make him realize what a prat he was being lately. He understood that Ron was upset, and that it would take some time for him to get over his heart break, but he was treating Hermione as if she had hurt him on purpose, which clearly wasn't the case at all. Ron just couldn't ever seem to deal with things in an appropriate manner. It was for this reason Harry thought that Ron would never be able to win Hermione over.

"Keep your voice down," hissed Hermione, looking around. Fortunately, everyone else was too busy to notice them. Once Hermione was reassured that no one else had heard anything, she rounded on Ron. "That's not fair, Ron!"

"Never mind," Ron continued. "You both probably like that I'm not around, or anyone else for that matter." Everything suddenly became very still.

"What are you talking about?" Harry said in a low voice, warning Ron not to go where Harry thought he was going.

"Please, like you don't know. I see the way the two of you are together," Ron said, his voice full of bitterness. "I'm surprised, Hermione. I thought you had more respect for yourself than that. Who else have you been leading on?"

Hermione stood stock-still; she felt as though she had been slapped in the face.

"Alright —"

"And really, Harry," Ron cut him off, "I thought you would treat my sister better than that."

Harry growled and lunged at Ron. He had lost all sympathy for his friend. Hermione grabbed him around the shoulders to try and stop him.

"How dare you!" he shouted. "How dare you accuse me of cheating on Ginny? And not just me, but Hermione being in on it, too? What the hell is the matter with you?" Harry probably would have punched Ron in the face if not for Seamus who came over to restrain him. He and Dean looked at Ron and Harry in confusion.

"Blimey, did you two even know you were fightin' each other?" asked Seamus [2].

"Yeah," said Dean, "what's going on? This has to be a first."

"Nothing's wrong," said Harry, "Ron's just being a prick is all."

By now, everyone was paying attention, staring at them with shocked faces.

Harry stormed out. Hermione would eventually follow suit, but not before pausing to give Ron a disappointed look.

As Harry walked briskly down the halls, he decided not to go to the Room of Requirement, as that would mostly likely only lead to more frustration. Taking a detour to Dumbledore's office, he changed courses. On the fifth floor, he saw someone he knew to be a Ravenclaw.

"Excuse me," said Harry accosting the girl around fourth or fifth year. She looked mildly surprised he was addressing her, but not disappointed.

"Hi," she said toothily.

"Hi. I was wondering if you saw Luna in the common room."

The girl now looked mightily confused. "Yes, I think I saw her in there."

"Do you think you could go get her for me?" Harry asked politely.

"Um, yeah… hold on…"

It didn't escape Harry's notice that the girl seemed to be wondering why Harry would possibly want to see Luna. True, she was odd, but not necessarily in a bad way. To Harry, she was a decent person and that's all that should matter.

The girl returned with Luna in tow. "Hi, Harry," Luna said cheerily.

"Hi, Luna." He didn't know why, but her presence always seemed to have a calming effect on him, and that was one of the reasons he sought her out. "I just wanted to talk."

"That sounds fascinating. I do always enjoy talking with you, Harry."

"Why don't we walk?" he asked her. He wanted to make sure no one overheard him, so standing in front of the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room was obviously not the best idea; he also wanted to escape the girl who was now eyeing them both doubtfully.

"Sure, that'd be nice, Harry," Luna agreed. "What did you wish to discuss?" she asked once they went a short distance down the corridor.

How to begin? "At the Ministry…" began Harry. "Do you remember that veil at the Ministry?"

"The Veil of Mystery, yes."

Harry didn't ask Luna how she knew what it was called.

"Well, I think… I think I —" How was he supposed to explain this? "I was there."

"I know, Harry, I was there with you."

"What? No, I mean… You remember the whispers?"

"Yes, I do."

"I think — somehow — I managed to go in there. Not physically, but I…" It was so far-fetched that he had a hard time believing even Luna would think he was telling the truth. He tried to explain his state of extreme meditation, and what it felt like to be in the other world. Luna's eyes widened as he described it and he knew that she believed him. She always believed him, even when his own friends sometimes doubted him. "You said something, I can't remember exactly what, but you said something when we were at the Ministry."

"I said that there were people, people inside the Veil."

"Yes, and there were. I spoke to one of them… but he's dead now."

"Well, he's not really dead, is he?" Luna posed cryptically in her whimsical voice, dreamier than he'd ever heard it.

"No, I guess he's not," Harry agreed. "But he's not _here_ anymore."

"Did you see your godfather? Or your parents?" asked Luna.

Harry's stomach dropped. If it were anyone else, he would have had a time of biting back an irritated retort, telling whoever it was to mind their own business. "No, the person I talked to was my godfather's brother. He said if I stayed too long, the temptation of remaining with loved ones would become too strong — that I wouldn't have come back.

Luna nodded her head as if was most sensible and obvious advice. "That makes sense."

"About this place… if you can call it a place… Do you know anything more about it?"

"It sounds like you know more about it than I do, Harry," responded Luna.

"But you must have some ideas?" he asked almost desperately.

"Oh, yes, I have ideas, but none of them are sure to be correct."

Harry waited a moment for her to elaborate, but when she didn't he asked, "What sort of ideas?… Do you think it's where we go when we die?" He had a hunch. He wasn't sure why he was seeking validation from Luna, maybe it was because of Luna's propensity to believe in the far-fetched and he was just deluding himself, but somehow, he thought something more mysterious was at work. Some might say he was crazy to seek such confirmation from Luna, but that's what he did.

"That seems to be the best explanation. I'm sure that's what happens," said Luna.

Harry didn't know why, but he felt he needed to hear those words from someone else. And she seemed so confident and sure of herself, too. That's what Harry really admired about her. And if that place was real, then his parents were real — not only in the past, but in the present. And Sirius, too…

"Does this mean you can enter the Veil?" asked Luna.

"What do you mean?" replied Harry.

"If you go to the Department of Mysteries, and walk through the Veil, could you come back out?"

Surprisingly, Harry had not thought of this possibility, even though it seemed like a natural thing to wonder.

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I guess I've always assumed it wasn't possible because Sirius didn't…"

"Because your godfather didn't come back out?" Luna finished gently.

"Yeah."

"Well, he was Stupified, wasn't he? Maybe that changes things. Or it could be that he was ready to go, and accepted his fate."

"He didn't want to die!" Harry refused to believe something like that. It didn't seem like his godfather at all.

"Then perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he didn't enter the veil voluntarily," suggested Luna.

That actually made a lot more sense to Harry. He didn't think he'd ever need to test that theory, but it was certainly interesting to think about.

"Hmm. Maybe you're right… Anyways, it was nice talking to you, Luna."

"Thanks, Harry. I had a nice time, too."

"Are you doing anything over the Easter holidays?"

"Well, I'll be able to spend some time with my father, which is nice. We usually do a lot of interesting things together."

Harry didn't doubt that. "Well," he said, "I don't know if you heard, but Lupin is getting married."

"Yes, I heard. Ginny told me. I always thought he was a nice man, so that's good for him."

"Well, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came — you know, if you want to." He was sure she wouldn't be having any friends visit or anything, and thought it'd be nice for her to see Ginny and everybody else over her break. He knew he couldn't invite her over to Grimmauld Place, but Harry was sure no one would mind if she came to the wedding. "Your dad would be able to come, too, I'm sure."

"Really?" she asked. It was hard to tell, but Harry thought she was a bit surprised by this offer.

"Yeah, I mean, Ginny and Ron will be there, too, and Hermione, the twins, Neville's coming…"

"That's sounds wonderful, Harry. Thank you."

"It's nothing. You're a friend. You should come."

"Perhaps, I will."

He told her the date and address and they both wished each other a happy break before Harry departed for Dumbledore's office.

"Why am I the only one who can do it?" Harry was now sitting in his familiar spot in Dumbledore's office, as the older wizard paced the length of the room. Harry had explained all that he could remember. "I know it's not because I'm the best Occlumens… or Legilimens. Could this be the power the prophecy refers to?"

"The prophecy states that you possess a power 'the Dark Lord knows not'. It did not say that this power was necessarily unique to you, however, 'the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord' does seem to imply this to be true. This could either mean that he does not know you possess this power, or he himself, does not have the ability to acquire and understand it. I believe there is more to this than I originally thought, although I still hold that my first theory is also true. Voldemort is incapable of love, without your compassion for others, Harry, you would not have been able to accomplish what you have. But now that this has been brought to my attention, I do believe that the prophecy may also refer to your ability to reach out to the Realm of the Dead."

"I must say," said Dumbledore while Harry helped himself to a lemon drop, "that is one of the most extraordinary things I have ever heard. Even more extraordinary is that the only living person known to do this stands before me."

"But why am I the only one who can? I don't understand."

"It is no coincidence, I think, that you are the only one, it seems, who can do this. Can you think of nothing else that sets you apart from everyone else? I think you'll find that the answer is simpler than you might think."

What set him apart? He thought as he sucked on his candy. His scar? That was what made him so famous…

"I'm the only one who survived the Killing Curse," he realized aloud. But what did _that_ have to do with anything?

"Precisely, Harry. No one else has survived the Killing Curse, but you have. Naturally, when such a rare event occurs, it will bring with it unexpected and unprecedented results." Dumbledore waited to see if Harry could make the connection, but when it was clear he was unsure, Dumbledore continued, "My guess is that you have what you might call… a sensitivity, shall we say, to our celestial home."

"Sensitivity?"

"You were supposed to die, but you did not. You survived. It is beyond death, not in this life, where our souls' natural place lies. When Voldemort's curse hit you — this is, of course, purely speculation on my part — I believe that your soul was called home, as it were."

_You have been touched by this place as no one else living has_, Regulus' words came back to him. Harry hadn't understood everything at the time, but that was to be expected. Death and Heaven — whatever people may call it, were one and the same to those who resided in the Realm.

_Those who have entered here have done so directly… and none of them have ever returned._

"So you think," asked Harry, "because I was supposed to die — because I was hit with the Killing Curse, but I survived — that's why I can go to that place?"

"That is exactly what I think," answered Dumbledore. "The world works in mysterious ways far beyond our reckoning. Just when we feel that we are beginning to understand the workings of the universe, new discoveries are made and they open up a labyrinth of new ideas — challenging everything we thought we knew…"

Harry pondered upon those thoughts along with Dumbledore in a few moments of silence. What new portals had just opened up for them? There was no telling.

"I also think," continued Dumbledore, "that Regulus is correct in telling you not to try and enter again until we are certain there is absolute need to do so."

"Yes, Professor."

"And just promise me, Harry, that you will not dwell on the matter overly much and remember to relax on your well-earned break."

Harry suspected that Dumbledore somehow knew that he had been spending hours upon hours in the Room of Requirement, poring over old books and searching continuously for answers.

"Yes, sir, I'll remember that," he pledged.

"I am sure I will see you," Dumbledore said, smiling now. "There is a wedding after all."

Harry smiled, too. "I'm happy for them."

"As am I. Remus in particular has not had an easy life and has endured many hardships. He deserves to be happy; he was always reluctant to act on his own wishes because of his condition. It seems that his near-death experience has prompted him to think differently."

"But, none of us ever cared that he's a werewolf."

"Nob indeed. And Nymphadora Tonks is a living example of that. But even though Remus knows that, it is still hard sometimes to convince ourselves that certain things don't matter — especially when most others have treated you like an outcast your entire life. In any event, it is good to know that true happiness can be found even in times as dark as these."

Harry nodded his head. "Well, I'll see you soon then, sir."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "But of course, Harry. Safe travels."

Heading down to the carriages that would take them to the Hogwarts Express, Harry was actually glad to be off to Grimmauld Place for the first time since Sirius' death. Hermione would be going with him. Ron had opted to stay with his family at the Burrow which had been fully restored since the attack that left it in ruins [3]. Malfoy would also be joining Harry and Hermione along with his mother, Narcissa. He had asked Harry earlier, stating a need for convenience to get to meetings, but Harry knew better; he knew that Malfoy was anxious to see how his mother was doing. Trying to imagine the four of them at the dinner table… Harry had to suppress a shiver. Harry wasn't sure if the collection of people spending the holidays together could be more mismatched. He supposed if Snape were there, or Voldemort… Perhaps he should have invited Luna, she was always good at diffusing tension. Mostly because everyone would be looking at her in utter bewilderment instead.

At the moment, Luna was doing much the same thing with him, Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Neville on the train. Otherwise, it was very uncomfortable as everyone made weak attempts at making conversation. Things between Ron and Hermione were as bitter as ever, and Harry was sure the only time he would see his other friend was during the wedding and probably on Easter. He was sure that Mrs. Weasley would stop by to check on everyone at Grimmauld Place to make sure everything was alright — something that came naturally to a mother of seven. But whether or not Ron would make an appearance was yet to be determined. Harry was still a bit upset with Ron, but Ron had apologized to Harry profusely acknowledging that while he had been upset, it gave him no right to 'such a prat' and accuse him of being disloyal to Ginny. He had also apologized to Hermione, but was still giving her the cold shoulder. Hermione claimed that Ron hadn't been sincere, and had only been forced into it by his sister.

Things became quiet once more. Ginny again tried to strike up conversation, but most of the time it would only end up with Ron and Hermione staring angrily at each other. To make matters worse, Ginny was also angry with her brother; she had found out what Ron had said about Harry and Hermione, and she was not happy with him. Neville kept deathly quiet, not wanting any of them to snap at him; he was never one to seek confrontation. Luna, however, seemed blissfully unaware of any tension in their compartment. She would make her customary odd remarks, and Harry began to think maybe she wasn't as oblivious as she led on and used her comments to erase the tension at timely moments.

Harry himself was already feeling downtrodden, so Ron and Hermione's mission to put a damper on the mood certainly wasn't helping matters. He was planning something big, something regrettable and a little depressing, and he didn't want to do it in front of everyone. Harry glanced over at Neville — he, too, had a permanent scar now. As lighthearted as Neville was about it, to Harry, it reminded him of the danger in which those around him were constantly placing themselves. It was a reminder that his enemies would hurt those he cared about without reservation. This realization woke him to the reality in which he was now living.

Harry was interrupted from his musings when the compartment door slid open. A group of fourth year girls whom he instantly recognized stood in the entryway.

"Hi, Neville," said the girl at the head of the group.

Neville looked around the room as if expecting someone else named Neville to answer. "Hi?" he said uncertainly, turning back to the girl.

"I'm Romilda Vane. We've got some pumpkin pasties in our compartment next door if you want some."

"Um, thanks, but I'm not hungry," he answered in slight panic. In fairness, the trolley did come by with food and drinks just now, but Harry was sure that wasn't why Neville was declining the invitation.

"Alright then," Romilda said sweetly with a winning smile. "If you change your mind…" she said in what Harry was sure she believed to be her most alluring voice. Romilda backed out of the compartment with the other giggling girls in tow.

It seemed that they had given up on Harry when he started dating Ginny (and after she gave them all dirty looks when they, Romilda in particular, were being overly friendly). While all of this was perfectly fine with Harry, it seemed they had now moved on to Neville. Poor Neville would have no idea what to do. Harry smiled, it was good for him.

"See?" said Ron. "What'd I tell you? Those scars — girls love stuff like that. It gives you instant stud status."

Neville blushed red.

"I suppose the scars look 'cool', as other kids would say," said Luna very seriously. "Congratulations, Neville. I'm just glad you weren't killed."

"Uh, thanks?" replied Neville, unsure. Her bluntness tended to have that effect on people.

"Honestly, Neville, if you want a girlfriend you've got plenty to choose from," said Ron.

Neville said nothing but turned a deeper shade of red. Hermione eyed Ron disapprovingly. "Don't talk about women as if we're items in a store, Ronald."

"What? I didn't say anything!"

Hermione just rolled her eyes and proceeded to stick her nose back into the book she was reading.

"Well, that _is _what people tend to do when searching for prospective mates, isn't it?"

Ron choked on his bottle of butterbeer and instead of turning redder, Harry rather thought Neville was beginning to sweat nervously. It was enough to make Hermione look up from her book once more.

"We evaluate certain aspects that we desire in a companion. And comparison is often a tool used in the selection process," Luna explained as if she were discussing her opinion on a class topic. "Either way, it ends up better for us than the Umgubular Slashkilter…"

No one reacted beyond a couple of befuddled looks, so Luna continued.

"The female will often eat her partner once the reproduction ritual is complete, starting with the head."

Harry was doing his best not to laugh out loud. He didn't want to hurt Luna's feelings, but the looks on the others' faces were priceless.

Upon dismounting the train, they all said their goodbyes. Ron and Hermione said theirs rather stiffly, although Harry found it encouraging that they were at least acknowledging each other's existence. Harry, Hermione, and Draco, who met them outside the station, set off to find an empty alleyway. As Hermione was now of age, she could use magic outside of school and Apparate them all. The two boys would have to be brought along via Side-Apparition.

By now, Harry was used to the sensation so that it did not bother him anymore. He knew he could use magic and probably not get caught (Hermione proved that during the summer), but he didn't want to take the chance.

Thinking of the address, the house appeared out of nowhere between houses eleven and thirteen. Entering the house, Harry perked his ears for any signs of activity. He heard the shuffle of soft footsteps and soon saw Narcissa approaching. She hurried to embrace her son. "Oh, Draco," she said by way of greeting. For his part, Draco, although slightly exasperated with his mother's antics, appeared to be genuinely glad to see her. Indeed, in Harry's opinion, it was the closest to stress-free he had seen Malfoy since the beginning of the school year.

"Hello, Mother," said Draco.

"All well here?" Harry asked to avoid the uncomfortable silence that would have been sure to ensue.

"It is," answered Narcissa. "Especially now that Molly and I have cleaned up the place a bit."

At first, Harry hadn't really looked around at the place, but now, as he examined it more closely, he realized just how much neater it looked. It was spotless. "Wow," he said. "The place looks great."

"Yes, well, I was never fond of my aunt's taste in… décor."

Now there was something Harry could agree upon. Mounting elf-heads on the wall wasn't exactly what he'd call a warm and homey touch — speaking of which, the elf heads were nowhere to be seen.

Harry wondered where Kreacher was at the moment. He had sent the house-elf here to help Narcissa, but his real motive was to locate the whereabouts of Slytherin's locket. He also wanted to see if there was anything else he could find out about Regulus and, possibly, anything about any of the remaining Horcruxes.

Since Harry had found out about R.A.B's true identity, he wanted to summon Kreacher at once and demand answers. But Hermione convinced him to wait as they couldn't find the locket until they were at the house anyway, and she said that Kreacher might be willing to offer other potentially useful information if they treated him kindly. This didn't sway Harry until she pointed out that Kreacher might try and remove the locket once they inquired about it, punishment or no.

Not wanting to be a bad host, but figuring Narcissa would probably want to visit her son in privacy, Harry beckoned Hermione to follow him upstairs. Heading to the furnace where Kreacher's makeshift, dingy nest was situated [4].

Harry had made an effort to be nicer to Kreacher lately and get into the house-elf's good graces, hoping it would put Kreacher in a divulgatory mood.

Hoping that Kreacher would be here (Harry didn't want to have to call for him — all a part of treating him equally, Hermione had said). Luckily for them, Kreacher was sleeping soundly on his pile of filthy rags.

"Kreacher?" Harry called out.

At first, the lump of flesh that was Kreacher did not move. But eventually, there was a stirring amidst the many ratty, smelly blankets.

"Hey, Kreacher."

Unimpressed, Kreacher began his habit of speaking to himself. "The Potter brat speaks to Kreacher as if we are friends, oh, but Kreacher would never befriend such a filthy blood traitor, no. And he brought that Mudblood with him. Oh, what my poor mistress would say."

Harry stayed patient and bit back his frustration.

"Kreacher, I need to ask you something important. You knew Regulus, is that right?"

"Yes. A good master he was. Always kind to Kreacher… Unlike his hound of a brother."

"Yes, yes," Harry interrupted. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him not to chew out Kreacher, and he had to remind himself to stay focused. Harry tried a different tactic.

"So, you liked Master Regulus, then?"

"Yes," answered Kreacher. "Kreacher just said that. The half-breed is stupid," the elf muttered to himself.

"Why do you stay in here, Kreacher?" asked Harry. "It can't be comfortable here. There are hundreds of rooms in this house, well, not really, but you get what I mean." Great, he was rambling to himself, maybe Kreacher was contagious. "What about Regulus' room? Would you like to stay there?"

Harry and Hermione had checked the room before coming to see Kreacher, and summoning the locket, neither proved fruitful. Harry hadn't expected it to seeing as he wasn't able to summon even the fake locket in the cave.

"Kreacher, stay in Master Regulus' room?" he asked warily, as if Harry were playing some sort of trick.

"Yes," said Harry. "I would like you to have it; only if you want it, of course."

"But Kreacher is a house-elf. It —"

"Don't worry about that. I'm asking you if you want to stay there." Harry paused before adding, "I'm sure Regulus would want you to have it." Harry wasn't sure about that last part, but as Regulus was dead, it didn't really make any difference.

Overcome with emotion, Kreacher said, "Kreacher would be honored to stay in the room of the noblest, most esteemed offspring of my mistress, who —"

"It's yours then," Harry cut off Kreacher midstream. He didn't mean to be rude, but he would rather not have to listen to the elf's blood purity drivel.

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he might have seen tears in Kreacher's eyes.

"Thank you, Master," he said as he bowed.

"You're welcome," Harry replied.

Harry wanted badly to ask Kreacher about the locket, but he had to gain Kreacher's trust and loyalty completely before he did that. He had to be patient. If he did too much at a time, Kreacher could become suspicious.

"Alright, I'll see you at dinner, then," he said.

"Yes, Master," said Kreacher, bowing once again.

Harry and Hermione went downstairs and began to prepare dinner. (Draco didn't have much experience in cooking, which was no surprise to either of them).

"You can use magic now," Draco pointed out to Hermione.

Harry didn't tell him that magic couldn't be detected at Grimmauld Place.

"Yes, but I don't really know any cooking charms. And besides," said Hermione, "I like to cook."

"You _like_ doing servants' work?" he asked incredulously.

"Most people don't have servants, you know," Hermione told him with a look. "I like creating things, I guess. It's one of the reasons I like Potions; it's really your work. I — oh, I don't know what I'm saying."

"Most people don't like Potions." Draco himself liked the class, although it was not his favorite.

"Well, Snape was mean, but I enjoy the subject."

Harry, unlike Draco, understood what Hermione was talking about. Maybe it was something that only someone with a Muggle upbringing could understand. "No, I get it," he said. "Sometimes I'd rather do things by hand."

Hermione nodded in agreement while Draco looked at the pair of them as if they'd gone mad. "But why?" he asked. "Why would you do something without magic when magic is so much quicker and easier — and probably better in the end, too? You even have a house-elf, Potter."

Harry was about to answer when Kreacher walked in. _Speak of the devil_, thought Harry.

Kreacher looked around in growing dread. _Uh oh_, thought Harry, _I hope I didn't break some unknown house-elf rule_. He remembered Winky being most offended with his least radical ideas.

"Why is Master cooking? I thought you wanted Kreacher to make dinner?"

"Oh, no… I meant —"

"You is not supposed to cook, that is what Kreacher is supposed to do."

"Oh, well… I didn't know. Honest. Sorry, you can do it tomorrow if you want, but I don't mind doing it."

"Then why does Master need a house-elf if he won't let Kreacher do his job?"

"Exactly," said Draco.

Harry silenced him with a 'not helping' look.

"It's alright for people to do the work sometimes, Kreacher. House-elves should be able to have breaks, don't you think?" Hermione asked politely.

"The Mudblood is talking to me again. Kreacher won't —"

Now, Harry would have to stamp his foot down there. "Kreacher, I forbid you to use the word 'Mudblood'. It's not a good word."

"Yes, Master… But Master, Kreacher is the house-elf, and you is the Master. Kreacher is supposed to make supper."

Harry could tell Kreacher was upset. "How about we finish this salad, and you can do the rest?" Maybe they could strike a compromise.

Kreacher seemed to struggle in an internal battle before relenting. "Yes, Master."

"Come help, Draco." They were making the salad as Kreacher worked on their meal.

"I told you, I can't cook."

"We're just making salad," explained Hermione. "Incidentally, cooking is a lot like Potions class. You can at least slice this cucumber, can't you?"

Draco's only response was to lift an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on," Hermione told him. "It's good for you."

Reluctantly taking the knife, he did as she said.

The salad was finished in no time (it had been rather unnecessary for all three of them to work on it), so they proceeded to the dining room while Kreacher continued to work. Whatever it was, it smelled good. Harry was a little nervous because the last time he recalled, Kreacher's cooking skills left much to be desired.

Narcissa was already seated. It was a very quiet wait before Kreacher came out with their meal. As he served the salad, Harry said, "Once you are done, Kreacher, I would like you to join us."

All but Hermione looked at him as if he were crazy.

"But, Master —"

"This is something I want you to do," insisted Harry. "I will order you if I have to, but I'd rather not."

Kreacher tugged his ears past his chin as if in great agony.

"I must intervene, Potter. House-elves are servants, and are to be treated as such. It is what they prefer," said Narcissa.

"That's because they don't know any better!"

Harry quieted Hermione with a hand signal; he didn't want to start an argument. "I know it isn't customary, but these are my rules," he said sternly, but not unkindly. "I want Kreacher to be treated as an equal."

Draco just shook his head in exasperated amusement, while Narcissa continued to look disapproving, but she said nothing more on the matter. Harry took this as a cooperating gesture. Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder in support of his decision. Harry noted that although Malfoy saw, he didn't glare at him in jealously as Ron would.

It was not the most convivial of dinners, but Harry thought it could have gone much worse. With one of the last assortments of dinner guests Harry would have ever guessed would dine at his table, there wasn't much conversation; but at least Kreacher's French onion soup was sumptuous. It seemed with his improved mood, so too did his cooking abilities. Whether or not this was by choice Harry wasn't sure, but he didn't care either way. Kreacher didn't say anything the entire time, not even his weird little grunts, and most of the conversation, little as it was, was conducted by Harry and Hermione. It usually entailed trivial matters, yet Harry was glad to get through the meal without incident.

As the days went by, things became a little more relaxed. Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, and Dumbledore all stopped by. Snape did, too, to give Harry and Draco their next lesson on Magicians' Dueling. It was very difficult to do. Harry found it hard to combine the two, eventually focusing almost solely on one aspect. Draco on the other hand, had the opposite problem. He had no problem working both skills at the same time, but he wasn't able to develop a mastery of either component.

After the first couple of days with Kreacher's mood much improved, Harry decided it was time to confront Kreacher, there was no more need for delay. It was time to ask about the locket and the Horcrux. He had perused Regulus' room once more, but all he found were newspaper clippings about Voldemort, a picture of the Slytherin Quidditch team (Harry discovered Regulus had been a Seeker) and Slytherin paraphernalia as well as the Black Crest.

That night, Harry and Hermione accosted Kreacher in Regulus' room.

"Kreacher?" asked Harry, "I need to ask you something." He could feel his heart begin to pump faster in anticipation. "And I need you to answer truthfully."

"Yes, Master," said Kreacher.

"Last summer there was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out when we were cleaning. Did you take it?"

Kreacher hesitated for a moment, so Harry said, "You aren't in trouble, I just need to know." There was a moment's silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look Harry full in the face. Then he said, "Yes."

"Where is it now?" asked Harry eagerly, with Hermione looking on hopefully.

Kreacher said nothing, but wordlessly walked over to one of the drawers in the room. He seemed to unlock it with some sort of elfin magic, for they heard a loud click, and from it, Kreacher slowly drew out the locket Harry remembered seeing from Dumbledore's memories [5]. Now his heart was beating fast and hard against his ribcage.

"Can I see it?" Harry asked, forgetting he could simply demand to see it in his anticipation.

"Why does Master wish to see this?" asked Kreacher suspiciously.

Harry pulled out the fake locket from his pocket. "Because I found this one while looking for _that_ one. Do you recognize this, Kreacher?"

Suddenly, Kreacher looked very nervous. "Where did you find that, Master?"

Harry crouched down to Kreacher's eye level, held up the locket and said, "Kreacher, I need you to tell me everything you know about this locket and what Master Regulus was doing with the real one."

"Master Regulus was always trying to do good by the name of Black. He was wanting to join the Dark Lord — talked about it for years. When he turned sixteen, Master Regulus finally joined him, the Dark Lord. My Mistress and Master Orion were so happy, so proud. Of course, Master Sirius left; he was always breaking my Mistress' heart with his lawless ways… But Master Regulus did right by the House of Black."

Harry had to hold his tongue and let the slight of Sirius pass for now.

"One day," continued Kreacher, "a year after he joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher… And then Master Regulus said… he said…"

The old elf began to fretfully rock back and forth.

"… he said that the Dark Lord required an elf."

"Voldemort needed an elf?" Harry repeated, glancing at Hermione, who looked just as puzzled as he did.

"Yes," said Kreacher. "And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do… and then to come home." Kreacher rocked faster, his breath coming in sobbing gasps.

"So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. He did not tell Kreacher what Kreacher was to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. Beyond the cave was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake…"

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up. Kreacher's croaking voice seemed to come to him from across the dark water. As Kreacher described what happened, Harry could picture it in his mind as clearly as if he were physically there.

"There was a boat…"

Yes, the boat. Harry had crossed the black lake in that same boat. So this was how Voldemort tested the defenses around the Horcrux, by borrowing a disposable creature, a house-elf…

"There was a basin full of potion on the island. The Dark Lord made Kreacher d-drink it…"

Kreacher was now shaking from head to foot.

"Kreacher drank and drank, and as he drank he saw terrible things… Kreacher's insides burned, and Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, but the Dark Lord only laughed… He made Kreacher drink all the potion. And then he dropped a locket into the empty basin, and filled it with more potion… And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island alone…"

Hermione gasped, holding her hand over her mouth, aghast in horror.

"Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island's edge and he drank from the black lake… and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface…"

Harry could see them, the living dead with their blank eyes and mutilated bodies…

"How did you get away?" Harry whispered.

Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he said.

"I know — but how did you escape the Inferi?"

Kreacher did not seem to understand.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he repeated. "So that's what Kreacher did. He had to follow his Master's orders."

"I know, but —"

"Harry," interrupted Hermione, "the magical bond between a house-elf and his or her master is very strong. It must have been enough to overcome Voldemort's protective enchantments."

"That's right," Harry remembered. "Elf magic is different. That's why they can Apparate in and out of Hogwarts."

"And of course, Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath his notice…" Hermione said in an icy voice. "It would never have occurred to him that they might possess magic that he didn't."

Still, it seemed a major oversight for someone trying to protect their soul. How could anyone be so overconfident? Voldemort's ignorance on the matter, although stunning, was consistent with what Harry knew from his experiences and from everything Dumbledore had told him and showed him.

"The house-elf's highest law is his Master's bidding," intoned Kreacher. "Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home…"

"Well, then, you did what you were told, didn't you?" said Hermione kindly.

Kreacher nodded his head, rocking as fast as ever.

"So what happened when you got back?" Harry asked. "What did Regulus have to say when you told him what had happened?"

"Master Regulus was very worried, very worried," croaked Kreacher. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then, later… Master Regulus found Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell… and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord…"

Kreacher told them of how he remembered where the entrance was, how to gain access to the inside of the cavern, and how to raise the small boat. He explained how his beloved Master Regulus sailed them across to the basin of green potion.

"And he made you drink the potion again?" said Harry in disgust.

But Kreacher shook his head and wept. Hermione's hands leapt to her mouth: She seemed to have understood something.

"M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had," said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snout-like nose. "That one," he said, pointing to the fake locket in Harry's hands. "Then he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets…"

Kreacher's sobs came in great rasps now; Harry had to concentrate hard to understand him.

"And he ordered — Kreacher to leave — without him. He told Kreacher — to go home — and never to tell my Mistress — what he had done — but to destroy — the first locket. And he drank — all the potion —and Kreacher swapped the lockets — and watched… as Master Regulus… was dragged beneath the water… and…"

Harry could hear Hermione begin to quietly cry beside him.

Kreacher knelt to the ground, banging his forehead on the floor in self-punishment and shame.

"Stop him — stop him!" Hermione cried. "Oh, don't you see now how sick it is, the way they've got to obey?"

"Kreacher — stop, stop!" shouted Harry.

The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, mucus glistening around his snout, a bruise already blooming on his pallid forehead where he had struck himself, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears.

Harry had never seen anything so pitiful.

"So you brought the locket home," he said insistently, for it was important to know the full story. "And you tried to destroy it?" But Harry was certain the locket was not destroyed, not if the basilisk venom hadn't completely destroyed the diary.

"Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it," moaned the elf. "Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work… So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open… Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave…"

Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words.

Tears flowed down Hermione's cheeks as she watched Kreacher.

"Kreacher, I don't understand, if your Master Regulus' mission was to bring down Voldemort, then why did you pass information to him — through Bellatrix? Why did you give up Sirius to him?" Harry knew that he had to treat Kreacher better than he wanted to, but that didn't mean he wasn't still angry at Kreacher for lying to Sirius.

"Harry," said Hermione, wiping her eyes, "Kreacher doesn't think like that. What does he care about the wars of mankind? He's a slave, he doesn't see the bigger picture, and he's used to cruel treatment. You see? He's loyal to the people who are kind to him, like Regulus, and probably Bellatrix who knew how to coax the information from him. Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, you can't deny that."

No he couldn't, but that didn't make him any less angry.

"Harry," persisted Hermione, trying to get him to understand. "You can't blame Kreacher. He's not responsible for how he reacts. He doesn't know any better." Kreacher was still crying in the background, apparently oblivious to them. "He was all alone, probably starving for affection when Sirius came back."

"But he just reminded Sirius of everything he hated about his family. Can't you understand that?"

"Of course, I'm sure it was hard for him. I'm not trying to assign blame here, Harry, I'm just saying to look at it from Kreacher's point of view."

Again, Harry was reminded of how everything boiled down to Voldemort. Snape blamed himself needlessly for the death of Harry's parents, and Harry was trying to pin the blame on Kreacher who only acted as you would expect anyone to react.

"Kreacher," said Harry after a while, "when you feel up to it, please sit up."

It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccuped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child.

"We want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to… ensure that his death was not in vain."

Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at Harry.

"I'm trying to accomplish the same thing that Regulus was. I went to the cave, and the other person I was with drank the potion. We found this, but we need the real locket in order to fulfill Regulus' goal. I'm going to try and destroy it, just like Master Regulus would've wanted. You can still accomplish his last orders to you, all you have to do, is give the locket to me. I promise, I will find a way to destroy it." Hit with a sudden inspiration, Harry took the fake Horcrux in his hand, and held it out to Kreacher. "Here, I want you to have this," he said, pressing the locket into the elf's hand. "This belonged to Regulus, and I'm sure he'd want you to have this, too."

Fat tears began to leak from Kreacher's eyes, who howled and wept. Hermione gave Harry a look of approval.

It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome with emotion to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own, that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. Then, when he was finally able to stumble over to the drawer, he handed Harry the real locket, and placed the other within the drawer, closing it shut once again. He then made a low bow Harry, even giving a funny little spasm in Hermione's direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute.

Now, Harry was far too bent on working the mysteries of the locket to notice anything else. Weighing it in his hands and feeling the cold metal against his skin he knew, for certain, that this was the real locket. The Horcrux was still in there, now he just needed to find a way to destroy it. But how?

Unsurprisingly, nothing he did changed the locket in the slightest. He couldn't wait until Dumbledore's next visit so that they could get started. He kept the locket with him, he took to wearing it and wouldn't let it out of his sight or else he wouldn't go anywhere without it on his person. It weighed on his mind all of the time, it was tantalizing to have the Horcrux that close, but to be unable to do anything with it. Eventually, it became more than just frustrating, but made Harry feel desolate as well as angry, much like he had felt for much of his fifth year.

One day, it almost became too much. He and Hermione were discussing the Horcrux again, and Harry found that he wanted no part in the conversation. Hermione tried to hold an optimistic mood, but optimism alone would not help them. She was again trying her rah-rah rally when it was all Harry could take. "I'm sure that we'll be able to find something. It's definitely possible, we just —"

"Then why don't you find out, Miss Smartest-Witch-in-a-Century!"

Hermione looked stung, but Harry held no sympathy for her. What was she doing? Socializing with a former Death Eater while he labored away, trying to find a way to destroy the Horcrux, that's what. She had no right to spew her cheery nonsense. People were dying, and this was her response?

"Harry, take off the locket."

"What?"

"You're wearing the Horcrux, aren't you?" said Hermione. "Just take it off."

There she was, being bossy again. Why was it that she thought she could just order him around like some house-elf?

"And why should I do that?" he demanded. So she could take it for herself? He thought not.

"Just do it!"

"Fine!" If it would get her to shut up, then fine. Once he had removed the golden chain from his neck, he felt oddly light, as if a heavy weight and pressure on his chest was suddenly lifted, as if a dark cloud he didn't realize had been there until now had been whisked away. Taken aback, he stared at Hermione in confusion.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said after a momentary pause, not quite realizing what had just happened. "Much better."

"You don't think you were possessed, do you?" asked Hermione; concern was in her tone and coloring her face.

"What? No. Definitely not."

"Hmm. You probably shouldn't wear it anymore, Harry."

"But I don't want to lose it."

"Maybe we could find a way to carry it without you having to wear it."

"Like how?" asked Harry.

"You really can't carry it in your pocket or something?"

"I could lose it that way, what if it slips out of my pocket? I'd rather be miserable than lose the Horcrux."

"Okay, well, maybe we should at least take turns for now. I'll think of something. But while we're here, we should just lock it up somewhere. Don't worry," she said when Harry gave her a dubious look. "I'll put protective charms around it."

"But we're going to the Weasleys' soon." It was the day before the wedding, and they would be spending the night so they could help get things ready. The wedding itself was to take place at the home of Tonks' parents; but the reception would be held at the Burrow. Both would be quiet affairs — close relatives and some members of the Order only — for the law still dictated the prohibition of intermarriage with werewolves.

"Then let me take it," she said holding out her hand. "I'm not going to lose it, Harry," she said with a little more impatience this time as Harry hesitated. But then he handed it over. They had a couple more hours before they had to leave.

Harry was in his room, packing his things with just minutes to go before they left when Hermione came barging in.

"Oh, I don't think I can take this anymore, Harry. It makes me feel terrible!"

He held out a hand, "Here, then let me take it."

"No. It's not good — it's not healthy to be wearing it like that.

"Well, we can't just leave it hanging around for someone to pick up!"

Hermione shook her head as if trying to rid of a fly. Then, she took the locket off. "Here," she said, holding it out to Harry. "Hold this for a minute, will you?"

She seemed much less agitated once she gave the Horcrux to Harry. "This is ridiculous, we don't have to wear that thing." She stood for a moment with her hand on her chin and then said, "Here, let me see this." Taking the locket, she placed it inside Harry's pants' pocket.

"But, Hermione, it could easy fall out." He thought that this should be unnecessary to repeat.

"Just wait a second." She then proceeded to take out her wand, muttering some spell and tracing the opening of his pocket with the tip of her wand. Harry looked down and felt the material. The pocket was now sealed. No one would even be able to tell if there was a pocket there. "There, now it won't fall out. But this way, you won't have to wear it. I can show you how to do the spell later."

Harry inspected Hermione's handiwork more closely to ensure that there was no way the locket would escape. "That'll work. Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione smiled. "It's no problem, Harry."

The four of them left. Kreacher was determined to tend to the house while they were gone instead of helping at the Burrow, and so Harry didn't feel so guilty for leaving him behind. Narcissa and Draco were going so that they wouldn't be in the house by themselves — the Order wanted to be close by to keep an eye on them — and they had made the Burrow almost as safe as Grimmauld Place. The Malfoys, of course, would not be attending the wedding, but otherwise they would be able to get out of the Grimmauld Place which was still somewhat oppressing, though it was much improved. Only the Order knew about the Malfoys' situation and would be the only people visiting the Burrow up until the wedding. Harry was sure that Narcissa in particular was must be bored holed up in Grimmauld Place. Indeed, when it came time to leave, Narcissa seemed fairly glad to be leaving the place for a while. And Harry rather thought that she and Mrs. Weasley had actually become something like friends. Well, maybe 'friends' was a strong word, but they kept each other's company well enough. Thinking on the history between the two families, it was disorienting for Harry to see the two of them speaking without being at each other's throats. It must change your view on things when you feel isolated and the supposed enemy takes you in when you need it most, he supposed.

They would be traveling by a Portkey that was granted special permission onto the Burrow premises. When they arrived, Harry noticed the Burrow was slightly different. It still looked much the same — it was still crooked and uneven — but not so much that it didn't appear to be able to hold its integrity on its own power; the magical aspect of the building was no longer apparent. Harry supposed that this was to detract attention from any Muggles nearby. It still had the Weasley flair, though, which Harry was glad for.

The outside also held some noticeable differences. Harry had never remembered seeing the place look so tidy. Gone were many of the weeds that usually covered the grassy floor, the bushes had been trimmed, the chickens had been put away, and any gardening paraphernalia was put away in the shed in preparation for the big day.

In the lead of the group, Harry knocked on the door. It opened to reveal a rather disheveled looking Mrs. Weasley. No doubt, she had been very busy getting the Burrow into tip-top shape.

"Hello! How are you all doing?" she greeted them as she gave out hugs.

"Fine. How are things here?" asked Harry.

"Good, but very busy," answered Mrs. Weasley.

"How can we help?"

After doing some last minute cleaning and putting up various decorations, Mrs. Weasley had a wonderful dinner cooked for them all, and tired, they retired for the night. Dinner hadn't been as uncomfortable as with just the four of them, but not as raucous as Weasley dinners usually were. Ron in particular was not as talkative or chipper as he normally was. Mrs. Weasley informed Harry that he would be staying with Ron again, and Hermione would be with Ginny. Narcissa and Draco were each allowed their own room. Harry supposed that she figured they both needed their privacy.

Dumbledore had stopped by, and when Harry had told him about the Horcrux, the old wizard seemed both delightedly surprised and impressed. It was Harry's turn to be surprised when Dumbledore said that Harry could keep the locket. He said that the diary wouldn't be any different from the locket, and it was best not to hoard the Horcruxes all in one place; but to Harry, it was a sign of ultimate trust from Dumbledore.

But Harry had other matters to trouble him for now. He knocked on the door to Ginny's room nervously, finally about to do what he knew he needed to do ever since he learned about Neville's scrap with a couple of Death Eaters.

Ginny opened the door and smiled sweetly at him. She was so beautiful. He had to close his eyes before he lost his resolve.

"Harry, what's wrong?" she asked with concern in her voice.

He opened his eyes and said the words he had been reciting for days, but he couldn't seem to string them together now that the moment had arrived. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked behind her to make sure that Hermione wasn't there.

"Harry?"

"Ginny, I… I can't."

"Can't what, Harry?" she asked, even though her voice sounded frightened now — frightened of what might happen next… that which she had been dreading.

"Ginny… I'm sorry. These past couple months have been amazing — more than amazing… but —"

"Then why are you doing this? I thought — " she was very close to tears and Harry could have sworn that he could actually feel her heart breaking. Or maybe that was his own heart…

"Ginny, it's nothing to do with you… and it's everything to do with you. It's nothing you've done wrong, but… Ginny, you saw what happened to Neville — I can't let that happen to you." When Harry found out what happened to Neville, it frightened him, more than even Voldemort himself. He was afraid for everyone that he loved and cared about. And if Voldemort what he did to Neville for showing his support for he, Harry, then there was no telling what the psychopathic murderer might do to Ginny. And Harry didn't want to find out.

"I knew it," said Ginny with a touch of exasperation. "I always knew it would be for some stupid, noble reason."

"I'm not trying to be 'noble,' I'm trying to keep you out of danger."

"I'm not the one who's in danger, Harry!"

"You don't know that!"

"What if I don't care?" said Ginny fiercely.

"Well, I do," Harry said plainly.

"Everyone's in danger, Harry. Voldemort and his cronies will kill anyone. My whole family is full of blood traitors and my brother is your best friend, so there's no difference. I'm already in more danger than most."

"That's not the same and you know it!"

"I knew the dangers before I agreed to go out with you, Harry! Do you think I'm stupid? I don't care!"

"I'm sorry, Ginny, but I have to end this."

"You don't _have_ to do anything, and if you respected me at all, Harry James Potter, you would understand that it's my choice, my decision."

"It's not just your decision. And of course I respect you, Ginny. But I care about you too much to put you in a position where I know Voldemort might come after you. I just can't do that. How do you think it'd make me feel if something happened to you because of me?"

"How do you think everyone else feels when you go and put yourself in danger _all_ of the time? But you don't even think about that do you? No, you go out and try to save the world _every time_. How do you think I felt when I saw you come out of that maze? Or when you were with Voldemort at the Ministry? So, stop thinking it's all just about you, Harry!"

"I never — ?"

"You always think it has to be you, but it doesn't!"

"Yes, it does," Harry said quietly but firmly.

"Why?" challenged Ginny.

"Because, it does!" He said it with such finality that, even though he had made no mention of the prophecy, Ginny's eyes widened with sudden understanding.

"Harry," she whispered, reaching out to him. He ingrained the image of Ginny into his memory before pulling away.

"I'm sorry. But this is the way it has to be." He left quickly before he could change his mind.

Ginny's face — sad, but beautiful — haunted his dreams that night. He barely slept.

He wasn't the only one…

. *** .

Hermione woke suddenly. She wasn't sure why, but then she heard a thump and loud steps in the hallway. Then what sounded like the thud of a door closing shut came next. She thought it was coming from the room Draco was staying in, which was a couple doors down from her and Ginny's room. Ginny, being the heavy sleeper she was, had not awoken. She also must have been rather tired because she was fast already asleep by the time Hermione returned to their room.

Still, she got up as quietly as she could and gently opened the door to go out into the hallway.

"Lumos."

She didn't see anything and so walked to Draco's bedroom and timidly knocked on the door. When she didn't hear anything she knocked again. Still nothing.

Quietly, she turned the knob to the door and pushed.

"Draco?"

He was there, sitting on opposing side of the bed and facing away from her. The light was on, and she was sure that he heard her. She padded gently on bare feet towards him. It took her awhile to comprehend the scene before her.

Blood was running down Draco's arm. He was scratching his arm frantically as if he were trying to dig out hallucinatory bugs under his skin. The crimson liquid trickled down his arm and fell like tears onto the mattress, staining the white linens as if in some sacrificial ritual.

"Draco! Draco, stop!"

But he either wouldn't or couldn't listen. Digging still more vigorously into his flesh, more blood pooled in the gashes that he cut in his skin and spilled onto the mattress. Seemingly unaware of any pain to his person, it were as if here were in some sort of trance.

"Stop! Stop it!" she shouted.

When he didn't, she knew she had to physically intervene. "No, don't! Stop it!" she yelled as she tried to pull his hand away from his forearm. Ignoring her pleas, he attempted to shove her hands off and continue his panicked frenzy.

"What are you doing? Stop!" said Hermione, screaming the last word with such intensity, it seemed to tear at her throat and make it raw. She tried grabbing his hands to prevent him from doing any more damage, but he was stronger than she was. It was like dealing with an injured animal backed into a corner. It was then that she realized it was his left forearm he was scratching. He must be trying to scrape off the mark that was there — the Dark Mark.

Draco was muttering frenetically and Hermione had a hard time discerning anything coherent. "I can't… no… can't… have to — don't want…"

"Draco!" she shouted, grabbing him by the chin and forcing him to look at her. He reacted as if he hadn't known she was there until now. Maybe he hadn't in a way.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

His breath sounded shaky and the feverish look on his face still remained. After a few moments, he sputtered, "I… he…"

_Oh, no_, Hermione thought, _what did_ 'he' _do?_

Draco was getting himself worked up and then he threw up over the side of his bed.

Concerned, Hermione wasn't sure what to say. But Draco needed help and was losing large quantities of blood at an alarming rate that Hermione wouldn't have thought possible from cuts, albeit large ones, in an arm.

"Help! Someone, help!" she yelled, hoping someone would come to their aid. She knew how to heal him, but his cuts were deep and she didn't want to risk causing any more damage. She started to panic a little bit, too.

Then, Draco looked up at her and began to weep.

_What could have happened to make him like this?_ she thought.

She did her best to console him. She tried her best to comfort him, holding him; it wasn't long before people showed up. Hermione guessed that her earlier protests woke them up long before her pleas for help.

Soon everyone — Narcissa, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry, Ron and Ginny all appeared at the door.

"Draco?" asked Narcissa. She ran up to her son and when she saw the deep gashes in Draco's arm she gasped audibly.

"What happened? What's wrong?" Hermione asked as gently as she could, using the sheets to staunch some of the bleeding.

This time, his answer sounded mechanical. "I have to get rid of it. I have to get it off."

"Please, tell me what's wrong."

Hermione held his hands to stop him from picking at his tattoo. His ragged breathing continued for a few more moments before he finally calmed down enough to speak. Closing his eyes, he said, "I was at a meeting tonight."

He paused. Draco took in a shaky breath before resuming. "For our meeting spot, we were out in the forest… A girl walked into the middle of the clearing where we were. She can't have been more than five or six…"

Tears began to form around Draco's eyes. "They-they tortured her, like it was good sport — laughing as they did so."

The tears began to creep down his face. "And then…"

Hermione closed her eyes. _And then they killed her._

Close to hyperventilating, it was a few moments before Draco could utter intelligible words. "And then… H-he… fed her t-to…"

Hermione gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. So consumed in grief, Draco forgot about his arm for the time being. _He could they? _thought Hermione. _How could someone do something so horrible?_

"She was innocent. She was just a girl." Draco shook his head and his tears flew off of his face. "I-I just don't understand… She was still alive when Nagini bit into her…"

Now, Hermione was crying with him. She couldn't even imagine something so heinous.

"The look on her face… I-I couldn't do anything. What was I supposed to do? I should have done something… but I didn't," he cried. "I couldn't even move. I couldn't believe that even they would do something like that. Some of them were still laughing, cheering even… and I didn't do anything."

Hermione felt sick to her stomach. "Draco, it's not your fault," she told him, trying to reassure him. He had probably been paralyzed with shock and fear. Even if he had tried to do something, they would have just ended up killing them both. But Hermione would have felt guilty, too. She knew she would.

"I hate it. I _hate_ it."

Everybody had varying combinations of shock, disgust and concern written on their faces. Mrs. Weasley held onto Mr. Weasley tight. Ron looked angry and sickened. Harry in particular was deeply affected, having witnessed similar visions himself. Narcissa was inconsolable. She had tried to give her son a good life, and now she couldn't do anything to protect him.

Still, the blood flowed down his arm. If he lost much more it could mean trouble. "Here, let me fix —"

"No."

"Draco, I have to —"

"Just leave it!"

Hermione was prepared to do whatever she had to do to help him. She could do this, she knew she could. After everything he had been through…

"It's just blood, it's just pain," he continued. "It's nothing compared to — compared to…"

Hermione looked him in the eyes. What she saw was a wounded soul. "It's not going to bring her back," she whispered. "This isn't going to make things better. _Please_, just let me help you."

Draco lowered his head and Hermione took this as a sign of surrender. Gently, she grasped his arm and muttered the incantation, swirling her wand in a complex pattern. She had never performed Healing spells this advanced before, but Draco needed her. Hermione concentrated on her task with more intensity than on any of her schoolwork. She knew she could do it, she just _had_ to.

Once she was finished, the Dark Mark had reappeared. She would have tried to get rid of it if she could, but she knew Dark Magic prevented that. Draco stared down at it, but Hermione covered it with her hand. She knew the sight of it sickened him, but she would show him that she wasn't afraid or disgusted by his touch. He began to cry again; fat, silent tears streaking down his cheeks.

"It's not who you are," she said quietly, but adamantly.

"She is quite right."

They all turned to see Dumbledore standing at the doorway.

"Severus told me what happened as soon as he could," said Dumbledore, walking into the room. "Naturally, I wished to make sure Draco was alright… or rather, as well as he could be given the circumstances. Severus would be here, but he has problems of his own that he must attend to."

Harry looked up. He knew that, whatever it was, it could not be good. Such was the life of a spy.

"He did, however, present me with a Calming Draught and a Sleeping Potion." Dumbledore handed Draco two vials of potion: one violet, the other a silvery blue. Harry recognized the purple potion as Dreamless Sleep Potion. "He said to be sure and administer the Calming Draught first, then wait at least twenty minutes before consuming the Sleep Potion."

Draco nodded his head numbly. Hermione remembered the instructions in case Draco didn't process the information.

After watching Draco down the blue potion, Dumbledore quietly suggested that the others assist Narcissa. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley guided her downstairs as Hermione vaguely registered Mrs. Weasley muttering something about tea and perhaps something 'a bit stronger'; Dumbledore followed them down. Ginny glanced at Harry, then turned to leave and Ron looked at Hermione one last time before following suit. Harry seemed to be teetering on the edge of saying something, but then also turned around and left, leaving Hermione alone with Draco.

With the draught starting to take effect, Draco seemed much more relaxed. Hermione wanted to make sure he remembered to take the other potion in about twenty minutes.

"You can go now, I'm fine."

Hermione was certain that he wasn't fine and it was only the potion that was allowing him to speak as steadily as he was now. But she also didn't want to make him uncomfortable; maybe it was best to leave him alone for a while.

"Don't forget your potion."

"I won't. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Tentatively, she left the room and quietly closed the door.

Once back in her own room, she found herself unable to find sleep. Worry gnawed at her, and she couldn't stop herself from thinking about how Draco was coping…

As soon as Hermione left, Draco lifted the bottle full of purple potion. Setting it back down on the bedside table, he knew that the potion would help him, he just wasn't sure he deserved to fall into a refuge of oblivion.

The effects of the Calming Draught were beginning to fade somewhat; he wanted dearly just to drown his problems away for the moment in that little vial, but his inner struggle — the fierce and raging battle inside of him would not permit him to do so. And still, his body ached for comfort. Without even knowing it, he fell into a fitful slumber. Soon after, he woke up, sweating and panting. His heart was racing as he took the cool bottle of glass into his fingers, tempted to cave in and consume the potion.

Not getting any sleep at all, Hermione decided that her anxiety would not be allayed until she at least checked on Draco. Something has just seemed off, and her mind wouldn't let it go. As lithely as she could, she got out of bed. She wanted to check on him and, after a moment's hesitation, opened the door to the room she and Ginny were sharing. But to her surprise, Draco was there; his hand pulled away from the door as if he had contemplated knocking on her door a few times already — hesitating between leaving and knocking. When she appeared at the door he seemed shy and embarrassed.

"I-I was just…"

"Shh, it's okay," Hermione said softly. She hadn't expected him to be up. Surely the potion would have taken effect by now. "Have you taken your potion?" she asked.

He hesitated, but then slowly shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I… I don't deserve to."

Hermione's heart filled with empathy for the boy she used to consider her enemy; for now all she saw before her was a broken boy.

Grabbing him by the hand, she guided him back to his room. She beckoned him into the room and, without thinking, led him to the bed. This time, when she saw his apprehension, she understood, realizing what she was doing. She was glad for the darkness that he could not see the blush which was surely crawling up her neck and face by now. She thought about how strange it seemed, even though it had nothing to do with _that_. She ignored the sentiment and embraced him — he still looked so shaken up. Gradually he returned the embrace. Hermione reached for the still full vial of potion, unstoppered it, and wordlessly handed it to him. Sitting on the bed, he drank the purple liquid before lying down on the bed.

There was moment of acute awkwardness as they tried to settle into their positions. Hermione rested her eyes, but did not fall asleep. She could still hear Draco's uneven breathing as he waited for the potion to work its magic. He was so tired that he fell asleep without the effects of the potion, but it was restless and, if his movements were any sign, not dreamless either. For the first ten minutes, he woke intermittently, sitting up and gasping for breath, not realizing where he was. Hermione, like his anchor in a great storm, would just say, 'I'm here,' and reach for him, trying to reassure him that he was safe.

Desperate to still Draco's aching soul, she held him close. Eventually, he settled down enough and lay unmoving as the Dreamless Sleep began to overtake him.

Right then, nestled between the hollow of his chest, the action felt oddly natural to Hermione — as if they had done this a hundred times already. Comforted, they were both able to sleep in relative calmness.

. *** .

The next morning when the two awoke, things became uncomfortable in the light of day. Both of them were self-conscious and Draco quietly thanked her for staying and she left for her room to find Ginny awake. Ginny didn't ask Hermione where she had been, and Hermione was grateful that she didn't have to give an explanation; at any rate, she was certain Ginny knew.

Hermione felt bad, because today was supposed to be a happy day, but she knew she'd just worry about Draco the whole time she was at the wedding. The Malfoys, of course, could not be seen at the wedding. It would virtually be announcing their loyalty to the Order. Before they rest of them left, they still had to help get the Burrow ready for the reception. The reception was restricted to the outside so there was no risk of the Malfoys being discovered.

She hadn't seen Draco since this morning. She didn't want to bother him, but she wondered where he was and how he was doing.

. *** .

Harry was still feeling disheartened with his break up with Ginny, but he knew he had done the right thing. It just didn't feel like it right now. But he supposed what he was feeling was nothing compared to what Malfoy was feeling. Remembering his own nightmarish visions and unwished for insights into Voldemort's soul (or at least part of it), he didn't envy Malfoy. And _he_ had been there in person.

Mrs. Weasley was finishing the big dinner for the reception this evening. She was clearly stressed so everyone was pitching in to help where they could. He walked down to the kitchen to see her bustling around, but he also saw Malfoy. Harry didn't realize he was there until just now. But Mrs. Weasley was too busy to notice Harry arrive and Malfoy had his back to him.

"Can I do anything to help?" he was asking Mrs. Weasley sheepishly.

"Well, you can go and fetch some plates from the basement, if you wouldn't mind."

He nodded his blond head and almost turned to go, but stopped short. "I'm sorry."

Still distracted, Mrs. Weasley said offhandedly, "Sorry, what was that, dear?"

"I'm sorry… for the way my family's always treated you… me, too. I mean…" he stuttered.

Now he had her full attention, as she stopped stirring her pot of soup.

"My father was always trying to get your husband fired, and…"

"And trying to give my daughter You-Know-Who's things?" Her voice was laced with an edge of bitterness.

"What?"

His face must have shown genuine confusion, for Mrs. Weasley's features softened.

"Nothing, dear."

"But you've been good to me, and my mother… I don't know why, but —"

Mrs. Weasley tried to wave it off dismissively. "It's all in the past, now. Don't —"

"You don't understand," interjected Malfoy. "I-I've done terrible things…" His voice was starting to shake. "Everyone's been so nice to me… but I don't deserve it."

"Oh, dear boy…" said Mrs. Weasley as she embraced Malfoy, as she would Harry himself when he needed comfort. That was probably what Harry appreciated most about Mrs. Weasley, she treated those she cared about as she would her own family. "Don't you worry about a thing, now. All is forgiven."

"I'm sorry." Harry was barely able to hear Malfoy's voice which was muffled by Mrs. Weasley's shirt, and he thought he could also hear him crying just a little. If Harry hadn't seen it with his own two eyes, he would have never believed it.

"Hush, now. You're a good boy; and you have a good heart, I can tell. I'm never wrong about these things," she said with a hint of a smile. "Now, buck up, dearie, and go fetch me those plates!"

"Alright… thanks."

"Nonsense. There's no need to thank me, now."

Mrs. Weasley seemed to have done an effective job in cheering up Malfoy a bit. That is, until he turned around and caught sight of Harry and froze like a deer in the headlights. Harry was sure Malfoy was thinking that he might turn the tables and humiliate him. But Harry wasn't going to do that. It was his opinion that what Malfoy just did took more guts than any of the stunts he pulled during their clashes with one another at school. So, instead, Harry just gave him a subtle nod of the head and Malfoy returned it realizing that Harry wasn't going to take advantage of the situation. For now, Harry was completely convinced that Hermione was right. Malfoy had changed. His transformation was glaringly obvious. With everything he had been through, it'd be hard not to, thought Harry.

. *** .

"Oh, hi, Harry," said Hermione, walking down the stairs.

"Hi, Hermione. I'm just heading up to dispose of the boggart. Mrs. Weasley says it just keeps coming back."

Hermione laughed. "Good luck with that."

"Oh, I'll need it for sure," smiled Harry, stepping past her.

Hermione smiled, too. Somehow, Harry always had a way of making her feel better without even having to try.

"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, good morning, dear."

"Have you seen Draco around?" she asked.

"Yes, he just went down to the basement, poor dear."

"I'll be right back to help with the reception."

"There's no hurry. You've already helped a lot. Take all the time you need."

"Alright, thanks."

She wasn't sure what Draco was doing in the basement, but she took Mrs. Weasley's word for it.

She met him as he was coming up, just as she had met Harry.

"Oh, Draco, there you are."

"You've been looking for me?" he asked.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I'm fine. I'm just helping to get plates."

"Oh, okay."

There was as short pause, and then Draco said, "You seem to be doing that a lot, lately."

"What?" asked Hermione, confused.

"Worrying."

"Well, of course, I'm worried… I care about you, Draco." It was true. And although it wasn't exactly a major confession — it should be clear from her actions — she could still feel her heart begin to accelerate.

"I know," said Draco so quietly that Hermione had to strain to hear him.

Draco set the stack of plates down in the small alcove next to the stairs. He moved slowly toward her, and Hermione tried to focus on not breathing to loudly as she was beginning to do. His eyes burned with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

When his lips touched hers she felt as if little shocks of energy were running along the surface of contact. At first, his lips gently brushed hers, but steadily he applied more pressure. His lips melded into hers and somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione thought of how perfectly their lips seemed to fit.

His hand snaked its way into her hair and she responded by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and tangling her fingers into the hairs above the base of his neck. Then he gently squeezed her waist which his other hand had found somewhere along the way, making her moan softly. The sound caused Draco to remember himself, and he gently pulled away. Hermione didn't want it to end, but once it was over she realized how out of breath she was.

She thought it might be awkward after their first kiss (_finally!_ thought Hermione), but Draco just smiled at her and she could feel the corners of her mouth lifting upwards, as well. They stood like that for a moment and then Hermione went to get more plates and follow Draco upstairs. She thought it was strange how they had technically slept in the same bed together before they kissed; and Draco had yet to refer to her by her first name. Normalcy just wasn't their style, she guessed [6].

Now that she was back in control of her cognitive function, she could think about the kiss. It was certainly not like kissing Ron or Viktor. Viktor was dry and mechanical. Ron was awkward and sloppy and uncertain. Draco knew exactly what he wanted and what he was doing. Hermione felt a slight twinge of jealousy thinking of the other girls he must have kissed to become so well-practiced, maybe even Pansy… but she was being ridiculous, she told herself. He wasn't with Pansy or any other girl right now and clearly didn't wish to be.

"Alright, what's going on?"

It had been an hour since Hermione and Draco had kissed, and Hermione was absent-mindedly arranging the flower vases in the yard alongside Ginny.

"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.

"I mean, you seem unnaturally cheery today."

Hermione tried to shrug off the question. "I'm just in a good mood, is all."

But Ginny was smarter than that, and Hermione could tell that the red-head wasn't buying it. "And is there any particular reason for your good mood?"

"Come on, Ginny, the wedding is today."

"Hmm. Then I guess I was just imagining the spring in Malfoy's step today, or should I say _Draco_?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," said Hermione, turning her face away from her friend so her smirk wouldn't be visible.

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione. In fact, I'm a bit insulted you thought you could hide it from me." But Ginny's own smirk belied her accusatory words. "So… how was it?"

"It was… it was…" It was one of those rare occasions when Hermione had trouble putting her thoughts into words.

"That good, huh?"

All Hermione could do was laugh — she felt almost giddy. Ginny laughed, too, but at her friend's antics. For her, it was good to see Hermione a little more carefree and, most of all, happy.

"Don't worry, Ginny. I'm sure Harry's _almost_ as good."

Hermione turned to see Ginny's crestfallen face.

"Oh, no… Ginny, what's wrong?"

"It-it's nothing…"

"Ginny… even _I_ can tell you're lying."

Ginny sighed tiredly. "Harry and I… we're not together anymore. He broke things off."

"What?" gasped Hermione, aghast. She thought things were going so well between them. "But… why?" was all she could say.

"It's about Neville."

Well, that was one of the last things Hermione expected Ginny to say.

"I'm sorry?"

In spite of herself and the situation, Ginny giggled at Hermione's expression, realizing how it must have sounded.

"Sorry, I should have been clearer. I mean, after what happened to Neville, Harry's worried that something similar could happen to me."

"Oh… oh, okay." That made _much_ more sense. For a bizarre split-second, Hermione had thought…

"Harry definitely doesn't fancy Neville or anything," said Ginny, laughing once more. "And neither do I for that matter; not that he isn't a great guy or anything."

"But what has that got to do with anything? We're all at risk! And we know the risks. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to be his friend!"

"I know, that's what I've tried to tell him," said Ginny.

"He's being ridiculous. Surely, we can get him to see reason," insisted Hermione.

"No, his mind is set, Hermione. It's done."

"But —"

"I've already accepted it." Ginny's voice carried a finality that Hermione didn't dare challenge.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," Ginny said more softly. "I'll be okay."

By lunch time, the other Weasley crew showed up bar Percy. Mrs. Weasley was handing out sandwiches to the twins and Charlie who said, "So, I hear the Malfoys are here?"

"Well, Lucius isn't; but, yes, they are here," replied Mrs. Weasley.

"And how has that gone?"

"Oh, this is just too good," interjected Fred, rubbing his hands together mischievously. "If that nitwit thinks he can go on a power trip like he did last year with Umbridge and not pay the consequences, he's got another thing coming." George smirked. Mrs. Weasley could practically see the cogs working inside the heads of her two most troublesome sons.

"_You_ two leave him alone," she said, pointing her spatula at them. "He's been through enough, poor thing."

"Oh, Mum, just a bit of fun?"

"No," she said firmly. "Now, I want to get there a bit early, so hurry up and eat because I also need your help getting things ready here before we leave. The wedding starts at 2:00, so I think we should leave in about an hour."

Soon thereafter, the doorbell rang and Harry rushed to open the door.

"Hi, Harry."

"Hello, Luna."

Harry had wrote Lupin to ask him if Luna would be allowed to come and he was more than happy to accommodate. Pleasantly surprised, he expected her to wear something more eccentric than what she had on. But instead, she wore a light blue dress with large white lily flowers embroidered on it. It was the right mix of unique and beautiful.

Once Mrs. Weasley was satisfied that things were ready for the reception, the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Luna and Fleur all huddled close together to get a finger to the Portkey they were taking to the wedding. Everyone was dressed their best, and while the men all looked nice, they had nothing on the women gathered around the worn, flat football. In contrast to the mass of black of the male division, the women looked like a living rainbow. Mrs. Weasley was dressed in purple, Luna was in her blue, Fleur elected to wear her favorite silver dress (Harry noticed Ron was making more of an effort to avoid her) — the part veela seemed to float effortlessly and gracefully in her elegant attire — and Hermione was stunning in her dark red dress. Harry was so used to Hermione, he often forgot how beautiful she really was. Ron was trying (and failing) to avoid looking at her, too. And Harry, for his part, tried to ignore how beautiful Ginny looked in her dress of chartreuse that fell to her knees and suited her form perfectly. Harry couldn't have picked a better dress that practically screamed the idiocy of his decision to end their relationship.

The world spun suddenly and, after a few moments, they lurched to a stop. Harry looked around to see that there were in an opening of a small forest. Hearing the soft trickling of water, he turned to see a creek that ran into the woods. It was scattered with modest, yet attractive decorations such as a large crane carved out of wood.

Harry bent down to examine the ornamental bird more closely.

"That one took me months to finish."

Harry looked up in surprise. "You made this?" he asked Lupin, who had snuck up on them.

"Yeah, a habit I picked up from my father," he explained.

"It's very good."

"Thank you, Harry."

"Well," Lupin said speaking to everyone now. "We're all this way, if you'll follow me."

Various flower patches lined the path to the main area where the wedding ceremony would be held. The path opened out to a larger clearing where about thirty white wooden chairs were spread out. Ribbons were tied across rows to create an aisle where the bride and groom would presumably walk. Harry recognized the color scheme seeing all of the lavender, sky blue and light butter yellow.

So far, only Tonks' mother, Andromeda, was there along with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye Moody.

For the next twenty minutes or so, people were filing in and Andromeda welcomed in everyone, as Lupin and Tonks were doubtless getting ready. Harry recognized everyone that filed in. Lupin wasn't kidding when he had said the wedding would be small. He saw Elphias Doge and Dedalus Diggle arrive, shortly followed by Sturgis Podmore, who had finished his sentence in Azkaban. Then Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid all stopped by to say hello. Apparently, Dumbledore would be presiding over the nuptials. Harry was glad to see Neville and his grandmother appear. Amelia Bones, who had just joined the Order, came in with her niece Susan. Susan's uncle and Amelia's brother, Edgar, along with his wife and children had been killed by Death Eaters.

Just as Harry saw Mundungus Fletcher saunter in, Lupin appeared at his shoulder. "Harry, it's time."

"Oh, alright." Now, Harry became a bit nervous, as he had never been to a wedding. At the hospital, Lupin had assured him that he didn't have to do anything special and he would only be required to stand up front with him, hold the rings, and escort the Matron of Honor out. But Harry hoped he didn't do something wrong and ruin Lupin's wedding. Hermione said that he should give a speech at the reception, which he had gone over his head a million times already. 'What should I say?' he asked her. 'Just speak from your heart, Harry,' she told him. 'And you'll be fine.' He sincerely hoped so because he didn't feel fine at the moment.

Lupin laughed at Harry's obvious discomfort as they walked into the house. "You look more nervous than me."

"Sorry, I've never been to one of these things before."

"Don't worry, I'm sure no one will be paying much attention to you today, even if you are Harry Potter."

"I-I didn't —"

"I'm just giving you a hard time, Harry," Lupin chuckled.

Harry smiled and felt some of his anxiety dissipate.

"I think everyone's here. I invited Severus, but I never really expected him to come."

Harry had to suppress a laugh imagining Snape in anything but his customary black robes. He was certain that if Snape ever did come, he would just wear those anyway. Harry had outgrown his own dress robes from the Yule Ball, but he needed the right ones for the wedding anyway, which was actually pretty much just like a Muggle suit, vest and tie.

"Oh, I forgot my bowtie." Lupin knocked on one of the doors in the hallway.

Hestia Jones appeared at the doorway. "And just what do you think you're doing? No seeing the bride until the wedding," she teased him.

"I'm just looking for my bowtie, I left it in here," Lupin explained.

"Ha, probably on purpose. But you don't get to peek. She looks gorgeous, by the way. We're almost finished here."

"She always looks gorgeous."

"Yeah, but you haven't seen her like this. Anyways, you'll find out soon enough. Now out!" she chided playfully. Remus didn't need telling twice.

It seemed like no time before Harry was standing behind Lupin while everyone waited on bated breath for the bride's arrival.

She walked through. It was as if the whole world stopped and the only thing that was happening was that moment. Tonks' pixie cut hair, while you could see her natural color (at least Harry thought it was), had a deep burgundy hue which glowed in the sun. Harry was glad that she hadn't decided to go with her trademark bubblegum pink, because she looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Her silky white dress flowed over her elegantly — decorative, yet simple at the same time. But the most notable difference was her smile. She looked so inconceivably happy and her smile dazzled as with the brightness and warmth of a thousand suns.

Harry turned to see Lupin who, at first, only looked gobsmacked. Then, when she came to stand before him, his eyes shone bright and he smiled wide. He had never looked younger or more carefree in all the time Harry had known him. The lines of worry were gone and despite having a few more grey hairs over the past couple of years, he didn't appear worn and tired anymore.

Handing each of them their ring, Harry smiled, too. For what else could he do? Their happiness was a contagion that infected the entire gathering.

Dumbledore said his piece, Tonks and Lupin exchanged vows, and after a couple of 'I do's, the pair sealed their promises with a kiss. Everyone cheered for the new couple, and the wedding was over.

Harry joined the Weasleys and they went quickly back to the Burrow to await the guests. When all of the visitors were seated and all of the glasses were full of champagne, Harry knew that it was almost time to give his speech. Like he expected, everything he had planned to say went out of his head, but he knew he needed to speak from his heart. Andromeda went first, then all eyes went to Harry. He stood up, much more nervous than he was at his first DA meeting.

"I tried to think about what I would say today, but now that I'm here, there are a lot of thoughts running through my head. So, you'll have to excuse me if I make a mess of things." Some members of the gathering chuckled softly. "When Remus first asked me to be his best man, I immediately thought of two things. First, I was honored that he'd even consider me to be such a big part of this experience — one of the biggest days of his life. The second thing I thought about… was my father." Everyone grew still as Harry continued to talk. "Because, while I lost my father and godfather, Remus also lost two of his best friends. And if we had our way, both of them would be standing up here today instead of me… Both of us has had to deal with an unfair share of loss in our lives — so have most of us here — but Remus has never let it change him for the worse. If anything, his compassion for others grew stronger. So, if there's one thing I know about my father, it's that he was lucky to have such good friends. Remus represents that. Not only was he a great teacher inside the class, but outside of it. He showed me how to fight off dementors in my third year, even though he didn't have to; even though most other teachers wouldn't have believed in me enough to try. And what he taught me saved my life on many occasions… He cared about all of his students, and he went above and beyond to help me, just as I know he does to help anyone in need. But he also taught me about life, and things that I know have made me a better person." He looked at Remus, whose eyes showed only gratitude for Harry's remarks.

"Remus is one of the best people I know. And when I say that, it isn't because I feel I have to, I say it because it's the truth. And Tonks, who I would call by her first name but I know she hates that…" Here, everyone laughed. "Tonks is one of the most vivacious and optimistic people I've ever met. She always has a habit of making people feel better when they need it; I know she's done that for me on many occasions. And when I see Remus and Tonks so happy together, I don't think there's anything that they deserve more." Harry paused to look over at them, and the two of them beamed at him.

"But even on this happy day, I think we all feel a bit bitter inside. We have to celebrate this happy union in secret, like today is something dirty and something to be ashamed of, when the exact opposite is true. I'm reminded today about what it is we fight for… Sometimes, when I'm feeling small or discouraged, I forget… but we fight for moments like these. Because if Voldemort has his way, moments like these will cease to exist. But moments like these are what we live for. That's why today, we celebrate life and love, because that's what human beings are supposed to do. As much as I know we all fight every day, I couldn't think of any single act that truly defies Voldemort — and his ideas of hate and prejudice — more than what we're gathered here today for. Because only now do I truly understand what someone much wiser than myself once told me: Love, is the most powerful tool we possess." He looked over at Dumbledore who smiled widely. "And so, I thank Remus and Tonks, for being examples to us all…" He lifted his glass. "To the bride and groom."

"To the bride and groom!" everyone cheered, making a toast to new couple.

Harry sat back down in between his two best friends.

"Wow, mate. Maybe you should've conducted the wedding," suggested Ron.

"So, it went okay, then?" asked Harry.

"That was great, Harry," said Hermione. "It was beautiful."

Harry laughed. "Thanks. I'm just relieved it's over now."

. *** .

Draco lay inside his room, resting. Over the orchestral music he could hear the laughter and cheers from outside and the clinking of silverware on china.

The door to his room opened and he stood up, fearing the worst. What if one of the guests wandered up here and saw him here? He would have to use a memory charm if necessary.

But he discovered that it wasn't an intruder, but Hermione Granger. He couldn't find his breath for a few moments as he studied how beautiful she looked. Draco tried to commit her image to his memory.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, once he regained his ability to speak. "Shouldn't you be down at the party?"

"I'm sure I won't be missed for a few minutes," she said. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"Better."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Draco hesitated. "No, not yet."

Hermione nodded her head in understanding. "I brought you some food; I thought you might be hungry." Indeed, in her arms was a cloth napkin full of food. "And Mrs. Weasley wanted to make sure you were eating enough."

"Thank you." Draco still couldn't get over how amazing she looked. He felt obligated to be a gentleman and comment on it. "You look beautiful."

She blushed. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm sorry you aren't able to join in the celebrations."

"It's alright. Weddings aren't really my thing." Though he had to admit, he had been rather bored. That is, until now.

"Oh, really?" she asked playfully. She held out a hand to him, "Then, why don't you show me how you dance?"

"I'm from a traditional Pureblood family. You really don't think I can dance?"

"Prove it, then."

Draco smiled and grabbed her hand, placing his other hand on her waist, as he had learned to do as a boy. He remembered the number of formal balls he had to attend, and his father made it clear that it was his responsibility to impress their colleagues to hold up the family image. Dancing to the distant music that could be heard playing from outside, the two of them became lost in their own world, focusing only on the person in front of them. Moving in slow circles, the distance between them closed and Hermione leaned her head on his chest as he held her close. Draco rested his head upon hers, wishing that he could stretch this moment out indefinitely.

But, alas, it was not to be. "You should rejoin the festivities before anyone notices your absence."

Hermione looked at him. "Yes, I probably should." But she made no move to leave.

Then, they both started at the sound of knocking. It was an owl, rapping the window with his beak. Creasing his brow, Draco went to open the window. In fluttered a small masked owl, clutching a letter by its claws. He opened the letter and read it quickly.

"It's from my father," Draco explained. "I'm supposed to meet him."

"Oh, well, be careful."

"I will, it's only my father."

"You could Floo back to Harry's and walk outside to Disapparate." The Burrow was now protected with an Anti-Disapparition Jinx.

"Yes, I think I'll do that."

The Floo was also protected and needed special permission for the traveler to come through, except for Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place. But the designs assumed that everyone on the inside belonged, so there was no restriction for those Flooing out of the Burrow. Grimmauld Place was similarly protected.

"I'll see you later," said Draco, walking out the door.

"Bye."

. *** .

"A dance for me?"

Harry started at the voice and turned around. "Ginny…"

"I'm not trying to get back together or anything, but you're still my friend and… my Mum still thinks we're dating. I wanted to at least wait until after we go back to school and after the wedding to tell her. I didn't want to add to her stress levels," she said, trying to smile, but it ended up looking sad. Nevertheless, she was still the same Ginny, and still as enchanting.

In a way, Harry was grateful for Ginny's discretion; otherwise things might have been awkward for the rest of his stay at the Burrow. "Alright," he conceded, "one dance."

As they twirled around on the dance floor, Harry almost forgot that they were no longer together. But then he would remember and his mood would become somber. A last dance with his beautiful Ginny… only she wasn't his to be with anymore…

The rest of the reception was full of laughter and merriment, and everyone was exhausted by its end.

The guests left and the Weasley crew, Harry, Hermione and Fleur went inside to find Narcissa rushing about frantically.

"Narcissa, what's wrong?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"Draco, have you seen him? I can't find him."

Hermione's heart froze. "He said he had to meet his father. But that was hours ago. You're sure he isn't here?"

Wide-eyed, Narcissa shook her head. "No, I've looked everywhere."

"Well, why don't we all check, just in case," said Mrs. Weasley. While the twins, Ron, Ginny and Fleur went to search, the rest of them immediately began to think of what else to do.

"Do you know where he went, Hermione?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"No. No, he didn't say."

"Well, surely it won't be too difficult to find him," said Bill. "I mean, how many different places do they meet? Perhaps Snape would know."

Harry could tell he was trying to pacify Narcissa, who was on the verge of tears.

"Yes, we should contact Severus and see if he knows anything," agreed Mr. Weasley.

Bill went to the fireplace and threw in the Floo powder. "Hogwarts!" he shouted as he disappeared in emerald flames.

"Do you know where else he might have gone?" Charlie asked Narcissa.

She shook her head frantically. "No."

The others came back and reported, unsurprisingly, that Draco was nowhere to be found. A few tense moments later, Bill reappeared with Snape by his side.

"What has happened?" Snape asked tersely, stepping out of the fireplace.

"It's Draco," piped up Hermione, "he's gone missing. He had an owl from his father asking to meet, but that was hours ago."

"Exactly how long ago?"

"I don't know, maybe three hours." Hermione wished that Snape would tell her that three hours wasn't unusually long for a meeting, but her heart already knew the answer.

"I was just with the Dark Lord not long ago. I was told that Lucius was already engaged in another mission of his own, tasked directly by the Dark Lord himself."

Now, Narcissa did start to cry, for it seemed that Draco was not with his father. And that meant…

"It must have been a trap," stated Snape. "Why this was done, I am not certain, but I'm sure we will find out soon enough. Other Death Eaters loiter around the Dark Lord's compound, and they often guard their tongues loosely there. I may be able to find out what has happened if I do enough probing around."

"Oh, please," sobbed Narcissa, "would you, Severus?"

"But, of course."

But just as he moved toward the fireplace once more, it burned with green fire. A woman's voice that sounded oddly like the voice in the Ministry elevator spoke. "Permission to admit Draco Malfoy?"

They all looked at each other in disbelief. After a moment, Mr. Weasley spoke. "Permission granted."

Harry wasn't sure what everyone was expecting, but what came out of the flames was a ragged looking Draco Malfoy. Narcissa wept and Hermione sighed in relief.

"Oh, thank goodness," said Mrs. Weasley.

Draco stumbled out of the grate, holding his nose which was bleeding profusely. Narcissa went to envelope her son in a giant hug. "Oh, Draco… my son… what happened to you?"

Stepping out of his mother's grasp, he said, "He knows. He knows everything."

"Knows what?" asked Snape.

"Here, let me fix that," said Mr. Weasley as he sat Draco down on the sofa. "Episkey." Draco's nose realigned itself and stopped bleeding.

"Are you alright, son?"

"I'm fine."

"But you lost so much blood!"

Hermione stepped up and pointed her wand at Draco's face. "Scourgify." The blood on his face vanished, leaving no trace of injury. Then she, too, embraced him, not caring what anyone else thought. She had been so frightened for Draco, and it really put things into perspective. She realized the depth with which she cared for him, and was less hesitant about their relationship — whatever that might be.

"Draco," said Snape urgently. "It is important you tell me everything the Dark Lord has learned."

"He knows I've been spying for the Order. He knows about…" he paused and looked at Hermione. _No_, she thought, _how could he know about that? Not even most of the people _here_ knew about that._ "He knows where my true loyalties lie," Draco finished instead. "He knows I've turned."

"Anything else?"

"No, not that I'm aware of," he told Snape. "But I'd be careful if I were you."

That really went without saying, Harry thought.

"What happened?" asked Bill.

"I went to meet my father, but instead, it was a couple of Death Eaters — it was the Carrows."

Narcissa gasped.

Harry didn't know who the Carrows were, but they must have quite the reputation for cruelty to elicit such a reaction.

"They bound my hands and were going to take me to the Dark Lord. But they wasted time taunting me and torturing me. It bought me some time to gather myself."

This time, Narcissa let out a whimper, no doubt imaging the horrors her son was subjected to.

"Then, they took me to a small holding cell, and while Amycus went to retrieve the Dark Lord, I seized my opportunity. I took Alecto by surprise by charging her. We both fell. She had her wand out, but she fell onto it and her wand snapped. We struggled for a while, but I was able to grab my own wand from her and cut my bonds. I Stunned her before I ran out of the room." Everyone stood around the fire, captivated by his story; and the eerie glow that illuminated everyone's faces suddenly reminded Hermione of gathering around the campfire to listen to ghost stories at night when she was a child.

"I knew I didn't have enough time to get to the entrance, I was three stories up. There would also be people guarding the door, and I knew that there was an Anti-Disapparition Jinx placed on the building. Then, I heard voices coming up the stairs, so I jumped through the window and Disapparated."

Hermione gasped. "You could've killed yourself!" she said, standing up suddenly.

Draco looked at her in surprise. "If I'd stayed, I would have been killed for sure. Or worse."

"But, you didn't know that the Anti-Disapparition spell didn't extend beyond the building!"

"I was fairly certain; it wasn't a large estate — just a building and no other property, really. His hideouts are always so well guarded; he wouldn't even need to apply the spell past the walls. Given the choices, I took the safest route I could."

"'_Fairly certain?'_ By jumping off a building?"

"I could have slowed myself before hitting the ground if that hadn't worked. I _am_ a wizard after all."

Yes, but still, thought Hermione, he was being much too blasé about jumping from a height of thirty feet or more. But she sat back down next to Draco, feeling a bit calmer now.

"If the Dark Lord knows of your betrayal, then doubtless he is planning on doing to your father the same thing he had planned for you," said Snape. "I will go and look for him."

"Don't bother." Everyone turned to look at Draco. "I don't care what happens to him."

"Draco! How could you say that about your own father?"

"Mother — "

"Nevertheless," overrode Snape, "I will find him and bring him back. We still need to find out how this information has managed to reach the Dark Lord, and it is my hope that your father might be able to assist in this matter." Without further ado, Snape swept pass the lot of them and, grabbing some Floo powder and throwing it into the grate, vanished and was gone.

"I don't understand," said Draco. "How could anyone have found out?"

"I'll tell you how," Harry said suddenly as everyone turned to look at him. "There's a leak."

Everyone tensed as they considered the implications of what had just occurred. They looked around nervously, almost as if expecting the perpetrator to reveal himself.

Later — when Draco was upstairs and resting from his ordeal — Harry, Hermione and Ron sat in the room that Harry and Ron were sharing. Ron had been oddly quiet the entire time, and seemed to rethink his attitude over the last couple of weeks.

But something far more insidious was on Harry's mind.

"There's a traitor, there must be. That's the only way any of this makes sense."

"But who?" asked Hermione, aghast.

"I don't know. We can't trust anyone, now. They're only a few people I trust completely… It could be anyone."

"It's probably Snape," said Ron. "He's the one who always —"

"No," said Harry firmly. "I trust Snape."

"What?" asked Ron in confusion. "Since when have you trusted him? You're always saying how suspicious you are of him."

"That's all changed, now. I _know_ it's not him. He'd never betray the Order."

"And what makes you so sure?" challenged Ron skeptically. "Something had to have happened for you to change your mind so strongly. What is it?"

Harry hesitated. He hated keeping things from his friends. "Yes, something happened. He told me some things that cleared everything up. You know how everyone's wondered what's made Dumbledore so sure — and that he knew something everyone else didn't?"

"Yeah. And?" asked Ron. "What is it?"

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you that."

"What? But —"

"He made me promise not to tell anyone."

"But we're your best friends!"

"I know you are, but a promise is a promise. Just trust me, Snape's clean. I'm absolutely certain of that."

"Okay," conceded Ron, "so it's not Snape, then… But then, who else do you think it could be?"

"I don't know," admitted Harry. "I know it's not your parents, of course. I trust Dumbledore, Snape, and Lupin… but beyond that, I can't say I'm one-hundred percent sure. I hate that, but it's how it has to be now. We can't trust anyone."

"What about Tonks?" said Hermione.

"I doubt it's her, but you know how clumsy she can be."

"Yes, but she's not stupid!"

"I just said I didn't think it was her!" said Harry, growing aggravated. He was on edge. Because there was no question in his mind, that there was a traitor amongst their ranks.

"But what about Kingsley, and Moody?" said Hermione. "Surely, we can trust them?"

In the room, except for the ticking of the great grandfather clock, there was complete silence for a moment or two.

"Would you bet your life on it?"

Ron and Hermione became silent as they contemplated the question.

"We have to be careful," warned Harry. "Beyond Dumbledore and Snape, I wouldn't tell anyone else anything. If there's someone we need to go to, I'd go to them first."

"What's going to happen now?" asked Ron.

It was the question none of them wanted to ask, but the question they were all pondering. The question seemed to linger in the air like some horrid stench. The Order, which used to be one of the only reliable sources Harry had, was now just as fractured and full of suspicion as the outside world. They were just as naked and vulnerable as everyone else now. The protective bubble that had shielded them from the outside and offered refuge from the contrivances of fear had burst into oblivion.

What had begun as a joyous and peaceful day transformed into an oppressing atmosphere of distrust and disorder. No matter how they tried to escape it, the ugly face of war reared its head, and struck back with a fierce vengeance at every turn. Because only one thing was certain, now; only one thing remained consistent in times like these. Chaos, in the end, ruled the day. A storm was coming. Trouble was on its way. The only question was… how soon would it be here?

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 21:

Everyone must tread carefully now for fear of feeding sensitive details to Voldemort's informant. Severus finds Lucius, the question is what to do with him. And now that Draco and Hermione's budding relationship is beginning to take off, what will he do to try and hinder it? Soon, it's time to return to school and now that Draco's secret is out, how will the student population respond? Unexpected events unfold upon their return; how they deal with their problems will come to define them.

"_I have convinced the Dark Lord to spare your life… You owe me, Lucius."_

_Lucius stared at him for a few seconds before conceding defeat. "Fine. What is it you want me to do?"_

_Severus knew that this could be potentially dangerous, but he also knew that it could also help the Order immensely._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] I got this line from Mass Effect, a great game. If you're even a casual gamer and haven't played this one, I highly recommend it. It will introduce you to the world of RPGs.

[2] A reference to a show I loved dearly when I was younger. I also hear they might be bringing it back! Do any of you know this one? It's rather vague, but maybe you guys can come up with the answer.

[3] No, I did not get this idea from the sixth movie (I actually hated that part, it was so random).

[4] I know in Britain, a furnace is more commonly referred to as a boiler, but a boiler is a completely different thing than a furnace, so I couldn't bring myself to do it.

[5] House-elves have strong magic. And because Kreacher would protect the Black family heirlooms with his life, I found it hard to believe that Mudungus would have come across it so easily. I mean, I know Kreacher stowed things in his nest, but the locket would have meant so much more to him, because Regulus ordered him to destroy it. There's no way he's letting anyone get their greedy paws on it. Also, I didn't want to copy the series too much. I didn't want to get lazy and do the whole infiltration of the Ministry scene again, as interesting as it was. I think it would have felt contrived in my version of the story.

[6] Another trivia question: Can anyone name what movie this semi-quote is from? Can you, can you? I hope I'm not annoying you guys, but this is really fun for me. ;)

Signing off,

fanster


	22. Misery's Haunt

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything Harry Potter related.

So, I'm in the middle of a four week period of examinations. I apologize if my proofreading is full of mistakes. I haven't written Chapter 22 yet, so I may or may not be ready to update in three weeks' time. Sorry, guys.

* * *

Chapter 21

Misery's Haunt

_There was a traitor in their midst._

That was the only thing on Harry's mind. It weighed down upon him like heavy armor.

He had always put an unquestioning faith in the Order; it had never failed him before. But the fact of the matter was that information was somehow getting from inside the Order to Voldemort. But not even many Order members knew about Draco Malfoy's decision to turn spy for them. Harry knew that Dumbledore and Snape were not the perpetrators, and he was sure it wasn't the Weasleys. Outside of them, he wasn't sure who else knew, but he did know Dumbledore wanted keep it as quiet as possible. It most definitely wasn't any of the Malfoys. Narcissa only cared that their family stayed together and safe, and Lucius would have never endangered himself by declaring his own son a blood traitor. The likelihood that there was a mole within their inner circle set Harry's teeth on edge.

_How could this happen?_

Harry sat down and buried his face in his hands. He must have asked himself that a thousand times already.

"I don't understand. Who could it be?" voiced Hermione. She, Harry and Ron were sitting in the study of Grimmauld Place. The mood within the household was somber and the storm clouds outside seemed to foreshadow imminent danger.

"Someone obviously found out," said Ron. "It shouldn't be hard to find out who it is. I doubt Dumbledore told very many people. We should just all take Veritaserum and either we find out through that or because someone chickens out."

"But they would be expecting that," said Harry.

"And there's an antidote to Veritaserum," added Hermione.

"You can also use Occlumency to resist the effects of the potion."

"Blimey, Harry. So if I tried to spike your drink — not that I would — it wouldn't work on you?"

Harry shook his head. He remembered when Snape threatened to do just that in his fourth year, mistakenly assuming that Harry, and not the imposter Barty Crouch Jr., had stolen ingredients for Polyjuice Potion.

"Wow," commented Ron. "Maybe I should start reading up on Occlumency."

"But who would want to betray the Order?" asked Hermione.

Ron shrugged. Harry didn't have any answers either.

"Maybe someone has a grudge — really has it in for the Malfoys," suggested Harry.

"Well, that really narrows it down," Ron said sarcastically. "That could be anyone."

If there was one good thing that came out of all of this, it was that Ron was back to his normal self. After seeing what Malfoy had to go through, he realized that his anger was misguided. And with the Order being compromised, there was no time for petty grudges.

But the mystery remained, and it hung over them like a dark cloud wherever they went.

. *** .

Severus didn't know where Lucius was supposed to be to receive special orders for his 'mission,' but he did know where the Dark Lord most frequently sent his servants for their death sentence. Maybe no other Death Eater had discerned the pattern or was observant enough to figure it out, but as a spy, Severus could hardly afford to be average. Being a spy attuned his senses and his ability to notice things that others did not.

He sincerely hoped he would arrive in time. Normally, the Dark Lord would ask defective Death Eaters to scout an area and report back to him at another location. There, he would dispose of them. He didn't typically kill them in front of the others unless he was particularly livid. Not because he wanted to avoid frightening the others, but because he wasn't a fool. If he made executions public all of the time, he could lose their loyalty. Fear as a motivator can only go so far. In fact, the mysteriousness of the disappearances instilled more fear in the Death Eaters, if anything. And so it was done mostly in secret — enough to keep people fearful of betraying him, but not so much as to disenchant them into leaving.

Severus hoped he was right about the location, there wasn't much time. It might even be too late. It was the place he always feared the Dark Lord would ask him to meet should the Dark Lord discover that Severus was actually a spy for the Order.

He came to the clearing where he once followed Dobb Gibbons — a Death Eater who met his untimely death for failing to capture the Longbottoms. Severus remembered hiding and watching as the Dark Lord cast the spell and Gibbons went out in a flash of green light.

Fortunately, Severus spotted an unmistakable mane of blond hair, and the Dark Lord was nowhere in sight. Without pause, he walked up behind Lucius, grabbed him by the collar, shot off some spells at random, and Disapparated. As light of foot as Snape was, Lucius didn't begin to protest until Snape grabbed him by the robes. The spells were to make the place look like there had been a struggle, so the Dark Lord would not think that Lucius had disobeyed him.

"Severus!" shouted Lucius, once he recognized his captor. "What are you doing?" he asked indignantly.

"Saving your life," Severus replied simply.

He Apparated into his own old house at Spinner's End. Severus dumped Lucius unceremoniously to the floor, put wards on the house that would prevent anyone other than himself from entering or leaving the house, and then, without an explanation, Apparated near the Dark Lord's quarters. He entered the building (only those branded with the Dark Mark could surpass the barrier) and waited.

He didn't have long to wait.

"Severus, what are you doing here?" hissed the snake-like man upon entering the room.

"I have some news, my Lord," said Severus, bowing. "I was with the Order, as you requested, and Lucius Malfoy —"

"— is not where he is supposed to be," the Dark Lord finished viciously. "I take it, then, that you know the reason for this?"

"Yes, my Lord," answered Severus. "He has been captured by the Order."

The Dark Lord let out a noise of frustration. "And how did they know where he was meeting me?"

"My Lord?"

"There were signs of a fight, Severus, at the place I was to meet Lucius." His red eyes gleamed with barely contained rage.

"Yes, my Lord. If the accounts of the Order are to be trusted, someone found him elsewhere and made contact so as to Side-Along Apparate with him. A foolish mistake, to be sure, on Lucius' part."

"He allows himself to be captured so often, I am beginning to think that he does so deliberately," said the Dark Lord with no small amount of bitter sarcasm. "And who is the one responsible for the capture of yet another of my Death Eaters?"

"I believe it was Shacklebolt."

"Ah, yes. It would be good to be rid of him. He has put more of my Death Eaters in Azkaban than anyone else. And the Carrows completely mismanaged their handling of Draco. Is there no one I can trust to complete a simple task? I am surrounded by idiots!" the Dark Lord fumed [1].

Severus had heard about what had happened with the Carrows. Apparently, the Dark Lord punished them severely. For his part, Severus had not been the least unhappy to learn of their fate.

"I do believe there is some good in all of this," said Severus, trying to placate the extremely volatile man. Those red eyes bore into his own black ones, and drawing on his Occlumency techniques, Severus continued. "We could turn this to our advantage, my Lord."

"Go on," said Voldemort appraisingly.

"Draco is still of use," said Severus. "He has befriended the Potter boy and his friends; Draco may eventually be able to tell us of their whereabouts. If he refuses, you can threaten to kill Lucius. No doubt Draco wouldn't like to be responsible for the death of his own father. Furthermore, Lucius has opportunity to adequately serve. He will have more incentive to do better if Draco is alive. The threat works both ways: You can threaten Draco's life if Lucius does not perform up to expectations."

Voldemort stood by the fire, reflecting upon Severus' suggestion. "I do not like of idea of having more than one unwilling servant. Especially servants so close to that fool Dumbledore."

"Lucius is not unwilling, he has simply been careless. He merely needs to regain his focus. Furthermore, I am sure that Dumbledore would shelter Lucius at headquarters. He will not be foolish enough to trust Lucius with anything of importance. But I can convince him that the Malfoys have severed all ties with you. The Order is supremely confident in its security." Severus did not want to resort the method he was about to recommend, but he could see no other way to keep Draco alive. He had to persuade the Dark Lord to allow Draco to escape with his life. "Draco is attached to the girl; you can use this against him, my Lord. I will see to it that Draco does his job. He has already informed Dumbledore of his suspicions of my true loyalties," lied Severus, "nothing Potter has not done numerous times already — but, to no one's surprise, Dumbledore has once again reiterated his trust in me. As you know, I rarely speak with other members of the Order or Potter and his friends. But Draco does. He can still complete his intended objective — false as it may have been — if only you give him enough incentive to finish the job. He can do what I cannot: become close to Potter, and feed us information from him. Potter will never trust me. But, over time, I think he will come to trust Draco."

Voldemort stewed in silence for a longer period still, before coming to a final decision. Severus made sure not to hold his breath or give the Dark Lord any signs of anxious anticipation. He must give the impression that he was not concerned with Draco's fate.

"Fine. We will try it your way," Voldemort finally conceded. "But I hope for your sake that this experiment of yours works, Severus." Any common man would have shrunk under the Dark Lord's menacing stare. Luckily for Severus, he was not a common man.

The meeting concluded, Severus Apparated and returned to Spinner's End.

He returned to find an extremely aggravated Lucius Malfoy. Severus allowed himself a little smirk — for surely the aristocratic man had been trying for the past half an hour, unsuccessfully, to escape the confines of the house.

"Severus!" Lucius barked upon seeing Snape standing there watching him. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I have been in conference with the Dark Lord. He has agreed to spare your life given certain conditions," he explained. "As it is, I have my own conditions for you. You will listen closely to what I have to say and do exactly as I ask."

"And why would I do that?" Lucius asked haughtily.

"Because it is only through my discretion that you are still alive. Because of your recent failures, the Dark Lord became convinced that you had become a liability. It was I who suggested that the Dark Lord keep you alive. But I can reverse all of that if you are not willing to help me."

"You wouldn't," whispered Lucius, turning pale.

Severus considered the man before him for a moment. "Perhaps not. But do not expect me to intervene on your behalf or otherwise assist you in any way when you fail to meet the Dark Lord's expectations once again."

All he received from the other man was a blank stare.

Taking a different tack, Severus simply said, "I have convinced the Dark Lord to spare your life… You owe me, Lucius."

Lucius stared at him for a few seconds before conceded defeat. "Fine. What is it you want me to do?"

Severus knew that this could be potentially dangerous, but he also knew that it could also help the Order immensely.

Severus explained what he wanted Lucius to do. Afterwards, Lucius simply looked at him as if he were mad.

"You mean you have been working for Dumbledore this entire time?" he asked incredulously.

"Just before the Dark Lord attempted to murder Harry Potter," answered Severus emotionlessly.

"Why would I do any of that? You may be willing to risk your neck by spying on the Dark Lord; I, however, am not so daft. The alternatives you have laid before me can only lead to death."

Growing impatient, Severus said, "I am not asking you to become a spy." He did not see that ending particularly well. "I only wish for you to allow me to explore your mind — after which, I will erase the encounter from your memory. There is no need to fret, Lucius," he said as Lucius squirmed at the idea. "I am quite capable of leaving the rest of your memories untouched and intact."

"Then how will I remember I even agreed to this?" posed Lucius, folding his arms.

"I will meet with you weekly. I wish to ensure that you are serving our master well," said Severus. "I will also update you on Draco's progress so that you may inform the Dark Lord of anything he deems useful. We will meet at Hog's Head. On Saturdays. 9 PM. _Don't_ be late."

Without further ado, Severus erased portions of Lucius' memories of the abduction and this meeting — anything that would implicate Severus' disloyalty to the Dark Lord. He would restore Lucius' memory before every meeting and then erase it once again when finished as he and Dumbledore had agreed upon. For no one knew of Lucius' involvement save for himself, Dumbledore, Draco, and Narcissa. The rest of the Order believed exactly what was being used as a cover — Lucius was taking refuge with the Order because Voldemort deemed them of no further use and wished the Malfoys dead.

Lucius eyes grew dazed for a moment, and when all was clear, it was if nothing had transpired between the two of them. Severus was once again a loyal Death Eater in Lucius' mind. Lucius now believed that Severus had intervened on his behalf and that the Dark Lord would be giving him one last chance to redeem himself.

"You will be staying with the Order at headquarters," said Severus, not missing a beat and acting as if he was simply continuing the previous conversation. "You will remain there until such time as you are needed. Take care not to draw attention to yourself." Dumbledore, of course, would make sure that no one suspected Lucius of any wrongdoing. "I will take you there; but first, the Dark Lord wishes to speak with you. He wants you to be clear on what your orders are." Severus felt slightly bad about this. He was certain the Dark Lord would still punish Lucius. Lucius barely had escaped the clutches of death this time. Voldemort would remind Lucius of that.

This plan was extremely risky. If the mole knew of Severus' own loyalties, then everyone was at risk. But seeing how the Dark Lord clearly did not know of Severus' deceit, he and Dumbledore made the assumption that that particular secret was still safe. But everything depended on that secret remaining just that: a secret.

. *** .

Lucius had just come from a strange meeting with Severus. All he did was give some instructions and tell him to meet the Dark Lord. He was worried that the Dark Lord would allocate the worst punishment for his failures, but he was still alive and if Severus' instructions were any indicator, he should expect his life to extend until at least next Saturday.

As he kneeled before the Dark Lord, he knew that this meeting was not going to be a pleasurable one. A ghost of a man stood before him, with crimson eyes gleaming with an anger that was almost tangible.

"You have failed, Lucius. You have failed me in so many ways. So disappointing," he said, circling the kneeling man like a bird of prey, "that someone who was once one of my highest hopes for this organization, has become one of the largest liabilities… At the Ministry, you failed to retrieve the prophecy. To be commissioned with such an important task should have been the highest honor, and yet you allowed yourself to make a complete disaster of things. You have been captured three times now, I think, if memory serves me correctly. Shall I go on?… I should kill you now and be done with it."

Lucius couldn't help himself; he cringed at the thought and the Voldemort did not miss it. It did not abate his anger, and only further enraged him. Disdainfully, he continued. "However, Severus has convinced me to keep you alive for the time being. Even you still have use, yet. Draco will be trying to get close to Potter and his ilk. You will be staying with the Order to help maintain this illusion and to bring me as much information on Dumbledore and his Order as you possibly can. But I promise you, Lucius, one more misstep, and it will be your last."

Voldemort continued to pace on bare feet. "But perhaps you need a reminder."

"I understand my failures, my Lord, and will accept this punishment," Lucius said despite his fear, bowing.

"Oh, but I am not so sure that this will be enough, Lucius. You need to truly realize the magnitude of your mistakes. Maybe you will do better if I punish your son instead."

Lucius' eyes widened. _No_, he thought.

"Please, Master. Do not punish my son for my failures. I promise you that I will do better. It will not be necessary to bring Draco into this, for the fault is mine alone."

"But he is a traitor, Lucius."

"Master, please," Lucius begged. "He is only a boy, after all. I will most certainly punish him, and you should as well. But do not kill him! Please. I am begging you, my Lord."

"And why should I reward you, Lucius?" spoke the Dark Lord dispassionately, examining a fingernail.

"I may not deserve it, but Draco will return to work for you once again. He has been hoodwinked by that Mudblood Granger. I will get him to see sense. Please, have mercy, my Lord. I promise, we will both serve you well if you do this for us, just this once."

Voldemort stared at Lucius until he cowered. He had never intended to kill Draco, of course. But he wanted to torture Lucius with the idea and make absolutely certain he would do his job dutifully this time.

"Very well. I will not harm your son… this time. But fail again, and I shall not be so merciful next time, and the punishment will be ten times what it would be now."

"Thank you. Oh, thank you, my Lord," exclaimed Lucius, kissing the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. "You are most gracious."

"I think you are forgetting, there is still the matter of your own punishment, Lucius."

Lucius swallowed hard. "B-but of course, my Lord. I only — Argh!" he screamed as he was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. How long the agony went on, he had no idea. But he knew that it was the worst he had ever been through in his life; even worse than after the mishap at the Ministry.

Finally, Voldemort relented, and Lucius lay panting and sweating on the ground. And the Dark Lord spoke, "Now get out of my sight. I grow tired of this conversation — I do not wish to have it again. I have no need for you at the present moment."

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said weakly, bowing once again, although a bit more shakily this time. "Thank you, my Lord."

Once out of the abode, Lucius wasn't sure what to do. He remembered something about staying at the quarters of Dumbledore's rebel society. He had no idea where that was, but in the back of his fuzzy mind, he remembered Severus saying something about accompanying him there.

. *** .

Severus glanced at the clock and took a sip of his coffee. Lucius should be done with his meeting by now. He had expected the man to appear in his home almost a half an hour ago. Severus had altered the wards to permit the eldest Malfoy into his childhood home.

It wasn't much later that Severus heard the tell-tale signs of Apparition. Folding his newspaper down, he looked at Lucius — he looked terrible. Severus did not envy him.

"Ah, Lucius. There you are. It is time to leave."

"Where are you taking me? Why I am staying with Dumbledore and his sort, Severus?" asked Lucius.

"There is no time to explain now. We must leave at once."

And without further ado, Severus grabbed a hold of Lucius rather brusquely and Disapparated. They arrived in the street near Grimmauld Place. Speaking the location in his mind, Severus walked up to the now emerging house with Lucius in tow, lagging a little behind him.

This part was tricky. They didn't want Lucius to be a liability, but if he was unaware of their plans and somehow found out what was really going on, they didn't want him reporting it to Voldemort. Dumbledore said that for the time being, they should restore Lucius' memory while he was within in the confines of headquarters. Otherwise, Lucius might try to escape or leak information about the Order. The idea was that if Lucius was aware that either of these actions would lead to his own demise as well as Draco's, he would have good reason to remain at headquarters and keep quiet as possible. The only problem was that he was not trained in Occlumency. But that also meant that the only time they'd have reason to worry was when Lucius met with the Dark Lord. He would have to be closely monitored. Severus himself would have to modify Lucius' memory carefully enough that the Dark Lord would notice nothing amiss.

But when school recommenced, they would have no choice but to keep Lucius in the dark, as the Dark Lord could call upon him at any time, and Severus wouldn't be readily available to erase Lucius' memories.

For now, Severus restored Lucius' memory as planned. He felt slightly guilty that they were erasing his memories at their own discretion, and that Lucius was not exactly aware of their plans, but it was the safest route to take [2].

There were only a few days of break left and Harry, Hermione, Narcissa and Draco were due to arrive back from the Burrow at any time. They all knew that Lucius would be there. But what two of them didn't know was that Lucius was more than merely seeking protection. He was doing a favor for Snape in return for saving his life.

When they appeared and Draco saw his father, the tension was immediately noticeable in the room. But neither of them said anything and went separate ways. Things remained that way for the rest of the evening. Lucius had elected to have his meal brought to his room by Kreacher. Yet despite that, dinner for everyone else had still been a sober affair.

Later that night, Hermione sat alone on one of the downstairs couches, reminiscing and reflecting on all that had occurred within a window of hours. It was late, almost midnight, and everyone else had gone to bed. But she couldn't sleep, so she went down to the kitchen and made herself some hot cocoa, like her mother always used to do when she was younger. This thought saddened her. She missed her parents terribly. Whenever she got really upset, like if she had a nightmare, her mother would stroke her hair and sing to her softly. Her father would take her in his arms, hold her close, and rock her gently. But she was no longer a young child. Although these things might make her feel better, she could no longer be reassured that everything would be alright. But they would never be able to truly understand her world. At least she would get to see them in a couple of days when she would be leaving for home.

"You should get to bed. You must be tired." The voice disrupted her from her musings. It was Draco.

"You're one to talk," she replied.

"Yes, it's been a long day." It had been a long day for both of them, for all of them.

He sat down next to her and they both sat in comfortable silence.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" She wasn't sure what to say, so she asked this instead.

He gave a small laugh. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

Once she was done with her own hot chocolate, her eyelids became heavy. Her head kept slumping over onto Draco's shoulder before she woke with a start.

"You really should get to bed," he said gently, taking the cup from her hands and placing it on the side-table next to the sofa, then running his fingers through her hair once his hands were unoccupied. The motion felt nice, and for the first time in a long time, she felt at ease.

"I wanna stay down here just a little longer," she mumbled tiredly.

His eyes glinted playfully. "Oh, really?" he questioned.

He leaned in to kiss her. It was tender like their first kiss, but this time, both of them were brimming with confidence. Neither one of them was the least bit unsure or uncertain. The kiss was more direct, more intense. Draco placed his hands upon her waist and he felt gentle hands in his hair and the slight tug of his bottom lip between hers. He moaned softly and was unable to stop the word from falling from his lips. "Hermione…" he whispered.

Hearing her name surprised her enough to give her pause; but then, with more passion in her eyes, it was she who initiated the next kiss.

"Ahem."

They pulled their lips apart. Draco looked around to see his father by the doorway. Hermione, uncomfortable under the man's glare, turned away and buried her head in Draco's chest. Usually she was bold and fiery, but being caught in this uncompromising position with his son, and the fact that Lucius Malfoy was no longer considered an enemy complicated the situation.

But Draco would not act ashamed because he was not. He remained defiant. "Is there something you wanted, father?" Draco spoke with more audacity than he would have ever dared even just a few weeks ago.

"Yes, Draco. I would like to speak to you," said Lucius ominously.

"Of course," responded Draco, but making no move to get off the couch.

"Draco, I said —"

"I heard what you said, _father_, I am just fine speaking right where I am."

Hermione looked up at him incredulously.

Lucius was about to say something else but Draco beat him to it. "Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of Hermione," challenging his father. Draco knew his father would be less than pleased with his attitude and distinctly detested being interrupted. Not to mention his father was prone to becoming extremely agitated at having his authority challenged; but at this point, Draco just didn't care anymore.

For her part, Hermione felt a small leap in her heart knowing that Draco had deliberately called her by her first name. In front of his own father, no less.

"Well, _son_, I would like to speak with you in private. If that's alright, I suppose," he said ironically, looking accusingly at Hermione. It did nothing to improve Draco's temper. "Fine," he said simply. He was going to tell his father exactly what he thought and he didn't want to have to subject Hermione to that, as he suspected it would not be a peaceful discussion. "I'll be right back," he said quietly to Hermione, then kissed her gently on the lips to spite his father, reassure his girlfriend, as well as show to the both of them that he had no intention of being intimidated by this father. Not anymore.

As they walked, his father scoffed in distaste. "Look at this place," his father said scornfully, inspecting the couple of mounted elf-heads that had been missed in one of the minor hallways. "We wouldn't be in this hovel if only you had completed your mission. But I always suspected you were too weak to carry it through."

Draco had had enough.

"No, father," Draco stated boldly, "_You_ are the weak one. You cower before that disgusting creature not out of respect, but out of fear. You said that everything you do is for a good cause. But what cause is that? To kill a teenage boy because some lunatic is obsessed with living forever? You are nothing but a slave, a tool. Where's the honor in that? You're disgracing our family name, not upholding it. You're always going on about how much influence you have — how much power you have. Power?" Draco scoffed, "What power? You lost all of your power the day you submitted yourself to him. I see the way you beg him for mercy, grovel on your knees. It's pathetic. Any decision you make, isn't yours, it's his. And you dragged your family along with you. You put me on a path no one should have to follow. You're just like him, you care about no one but yourself… You deserve him… And if you do care, then you're nothing but a coward. If you cared about your family, you would have left, you would have deserted him. You would have faced the risk of death instead of fearing for your life. You have no excuse. You _did_ have a choice. A choice that I have made, that Snape made. But you didn't. Did you ever even once think of me? Or Mother? Do you even love her? I often ask myself, what she possibly could have ever seen in you."

His father looked dumbfounded. But Draco wasn't done just yet.

"But I know better. _I_ have learned not to waste my faith on you. I have long since learned that you don't give a damn about me, or anyone. The man I was once so captivated with as a child, I realized, was a liar, a coward. I used to boast about you all the time — about _my father_. I was proud you were my father, I wanted to be just like you; and now?… now, I only wish I wasn't cursed with this face so that I could be rid of my last remaining resemblance to you. Always, I craved your attention, longed for your praise; but not anymore. Those days are long over. Because I'll never be good enough for you, will I? But now I understand — now I realize — I don't want to be. And so I don't care about anything you have to say to me, _father_," he spit in disgust, emphasizing the last word. "But you never really were my father, were you?"

With one last, icy glare, Draco turned his back on his father; not just physically, but in every other possible way as well. He was leaving behind everything he once believed in.

. *** .

Things remained uncomfortably tense and everyone was on edge for the remainder of break at Grimmauld Place. Hermione went home to visit her parents, and suffice it to say that it was the oddest Easter for both Harry and the Malfoy family. Harry thought it was best not to mix the Malfoys and Weasleys for the holidays and so politely declined Mrs. Weasley's invitation. Lupin and Tonks did stop by so Easter hadn't been completely lonely for Harry.

Soon it was time to return for the last stretch of school. They decided it was best to leave early Monday morning. Instead of riding the train, they would Side-Apparate along with members of the Order.

Harry was packing up when the ring of the doorbell announced a guest. It was probably Remus and Tonks, ready to take them back to Hogwarts. Walking into the hallway and opening the door, Harry came face to face with Dumbledore. He hadn't expected his Headmaster would be coming along, too.

"Hello, Harry."

"Good morning, Professor."

"How was your Easter?"

"It was… interesting."

Dumbledore smiled.

"And yours, sir?"

"Oh, it was quite pleasant," answered Dumbledore. "I was wondering if you could tell me where to find Draco," he inquired.

"Oh, he's upstairs in his room."

"Thank you, Harry. I will be accompanying the both of you back to school when Remus and Nymphadora arrive."

"Yes, sir."

Albus eased his way up the stairs to the room where he knew Draco stayed over the break.

Draco was just finishing up packing when there came a knock on the door.

He was expecting Potter, or maybe his mother; instead, he saw it was Albus Dumbledore standing at his door.

"Professor?"

"Draco. Good morning to you. Before we leave for Hogwarts, there are a couple of items that we must address."

Draco looked at him expectantly.

"First of all, as I am sure you are aware, your desertion from the Death Eaters is no longer protected knowledge; thusly, you will have — in effect — made a few enemies among your own housemates."

Draco nodded, he had foreseen this and that was one of the reasons he was nervous about returning to Hogwarts.

"Therefore, I would encourage you to stay close to the people you trust. It wouldn't do well for you to wander alone in empty corridors. It obviously goes without saying that you must be on your guard."

"Yes, sir."

"Also, I am very pleased with the way you have handled things. I think you have earned a great deal of respect; I heard many members of the Order praise your actions — deservedly so — and you have elevated your standing in many of their eyes."

Inclining his head, Draco mumbled, "Thank you, sir."

"Now, remember," continued Dumbledore, "that your father's memory of these events has been erased. So be cautious should you ever need to contact him."

"Of course, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled. "Good. Now, shall we be off?"

At school, as expected, their predictions proved to be true.

As soon as Draco arrived, he was met with resistance. Walking to his dormitory, he met four people in the hallway. There were Urquhart and Lowell Harper from Quidditch. Urquhart was in his seventh year and so was probably the leader of this particular group. Harper was a year under him, as well as Larissa Rosier, daughter of Evan Rosier — the Death Eater who was killed at the hand of Alastor Moody at the end of the First Wizarding War. Rosier died leaving his wife alone and pregnant. And then there was Natasha Wilkinson. She was in the same year as Draco, but he had never really gotten to know the quiet, bookish girl. But now, her glasses seemed to flash furiously as she looked upon him.

"I hear you just barely escaped death, Draco," said Urquhart. "You're a slippery little eel, aren't you? Just like your father."

"No," replied Draco stoically. "I just take good care of myself."

They all scoffed at him. "You were lucky."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's what they told you. I guess they had to make it seem less embarrassing. Of course, I doubt it helped them any." Draco heard it from Snape that the Carrows had been severely punished. And he had to say, he didn't feel bad about it in the slightest.

"You're a traitor!" yelled Larissa.

"You must be very foolish to think you can continue to rely on luck. My guess is that you won't even survive past the end of this school year," said Urquhart.

Harper laughed sycophantically. "Yeah, let's give it to him, Yorick."

Urquhart held up a hand. "No," he said. "Not yet. Let's give him some time to think over it…" he left the implied threat hanging in the air as he walked away, followed by his cronies: Harper, the enthusiastic lap dog; Larissa, the angry and crazed Death Eater child; and Wilkinson… with her oddly calm demeanor, she concerned Draco the most.

He thought he had been extremely lucky to get out of that situation without having to put up a fight.

Walking into the empty common room, Draco sighed and sunk down into the green sofa… except the room wasn't empty. He should have known that things wouldn't be that easy… His old crew — Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise, Pike and Pansy crowded around him. Millicent was among the throng and looked as menacing as ever.

"What do you want?" he said as dispassionately as he could.

He now saw that Theodore Nott was tuckered away alone in the corner, watching observantly. The two other girls in his class — Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis — arrived at the foot of their dormitory door watching apprehensively.

"We heard about what you did, Malfoy," said Pike, "and we think it's really lame."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Draco asked contemptuously, remaining seated.

"Maybe we should just leave him alone, Alston."

Pike turned to look at Goyle in disgust. "Don't you realize what he's done!" he shouted.

"Yeah, Malfoy, what happened to you?" asked Crabbe. "You were always the one telling us what to do, to keep us in line, you said. Now, it looks like you're the one who needs keepin' in line."

"Come on, Vince, Draco's our friend!" protested Goyle.

"You mean he _was_ our friend."

"But — !"

"Shut up, Greg!"

"Don't worry, Crabbe." It was Bowen Avery; he was in his seventh year and his father was a Death Eater who had also been captured and put into Azkaban. _Great_, Draco thought, _another Death Eater's kid_. Avery must have been listening the whole time and now, decided to make an appearance. It seemed that in Draco's absence, Avery had taken it upon himself to 'mentor' the gang of sixth years. "He can be forgiven," said Avery. "He can't help his own stupidity."

"Don't call him stupid!" Draco shouted angrily. "Because from where I'm standing, you're the stupid one." Goyle was the only one standing up for him, and he wasn't about to let a creep like Avery insult his friend. Goyle had always been sensitive about his level of intelligence.

Pike moved to curse Malfoy, but Goyle saw this and instinctively moved to protect his friend, just like old times. As a result, Goyle was knocked unconscious and fell to the floor with a gargantuan 'boom'.

Crabbe turned to Pike. "Did you really have to do that?"

Blaise stepped forward to make sure Goyle hadn't broken anything. "Yes, this is getting out of hand."

"Not before we teach our old pal, Draco, a lesson," sneered Avery.

The circle of Slytherins closed in around Draco. A sinister leer grew on Bulstrode's face. As they all advanced upon him, Daphne and Tracey were crying for them to stop in the background, not wanting anything violent to break out. But the group simply ignored the pair of them. Nott had disappeared.

"Is it true, the rumors?" asked Avery in a taunting voice. "Have you been consorting with a filthy Mudblood?"

Draco tried not to react — he didn't want any of the Slytherins to harm Hermione — but the gleam of anger in his eyes must have shown, for Avery he laughed. They couldn't know how he really felt about her. If they did, they would destroy her. He felt guilty in having to mislead them into believing that his designs on Hermione were purely for his own sexual conquest, but the alternative was too grim to imagine. It frustrated him that even though everyone now knew who he was, he and Hermione still had to keep their relationship private, like a dirty secret.

Besides Blaise, who was transferring Goyle (magically) to the other couch, only Pansy seemed unsure. She didn't come forward, but stood back, looking torn between what to do. On Pansy's face Draco only saw betrayal, disappointment, hurt, and perhaps a small trace of fear. Then, she opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, but Blaise beat her to it.

"Come on, this has gone far enough. Can't we just ignore each other in peace? We'll all get in trouble for this." Draco was surprised that Blaise chose to get involved at all.

"What's the matter, Zabini?" mocked Avery. "A little violence makes you squeamish? Besides, you really think Snape is going to want to protect this little shit?"

Crabbe and Pike snickered. Draco closed off his mind, just in case. He didn't want to take a chance with the sketchy Avery. None of them knew of Snape's true position.

And that's when none other than Snape himself came striding through the common room door.

"Is something the matter here?" he inquired smoothly.

Avery, for his part, looked stunned. But he quickly recovered. "No, sir. We were just welcoming Draco back," he said seedily.

Snape contemplated him for a moment. "I see…"

Then, "I must ask you all to leave, I must speak to Draco alone."

Avery and Pike gave Draco one last sneer, though it was gleeful this time, as they undoubtedly both believed that Draco was in for some form of punishment. With one sad look, Pansy followed everyone else out.

"What has happened to Goyle?" asked Snape.

"Pike tried to hit me with a curse. Goyle tried to move me out of the way and got hit. I think he's only Stunned."

Snape stooped beside Goyle and inspected him. Apparently satisfied with Goyle's condition, he turned to Draco. "I cannot make too many accommodations for you, as the rest would grow suspicious."

"I understand."

"I would advise you to disappear elsewhere."

"I can go to the library; most of them wouldn't be caught dead in there. But I can't sleep in the library." Draco was mystified, Snape's advice was typically more helpful than this.

"No you cannot; that is true. It would seem that you _require_ someplace elsewhere."

Oh, now he got it. He nodded his understanding. "Yes, sir. I will do so."

"Good," said Snape. "Try and surround yourself with people you know you can trust. And watch your back."

Draco nodded again. It was basically the same thing Dumbledore had told him before leaving for Hogwarts.

As Snape walked out of the room (with a levitated Goyle), Draco couldn't help wondering whom Snape placed in the category of people he trusted, and how he was able to extend his career as spy so much longer than Draco's own short-lived stint.

But he was wondering a few other things as well, and he planned to have those inquiries adequately addressed.

He looked in the Great Hall to no avail. Then he tried the library with the same results. When he had exhausted all possible alternatives, he finally gave in and returned to the Slytherin common room. Maybe he would chance upon luck there. But when he entered, he found Zabini instead.

"Blaise," he acknowledged.

"Draco," returned Blaise.

Draco sat warily across from Blaise, as he wasn't sure of his classmate's intentions yet.

"How's Goyle?"

"He is fine. Conscious, too."

"Is he in the Hospital wing?"

"No, in the Great Hall… eating."

Draco snorted. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

There was an awkward silence, so Draco took this opportunity to question his enigmatic classmate.

"You don't seem to hate me," Draco stated plainly.

Zabini raised an eyebrow. "An exciting piece of information for you, I'm sure."

It was always so hard to get a straight answer out of Zabini.

"Everyone else seems to, as I'm sure you have noticed."

"What, hate you? That would seem obvious."

"Then why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Stop playing with me, Zabini. Why aren't you angry with me?"

"Why would I be? That would be a colossal waste of energy."

Draco snorted in frustration. This conversation was getting them nowhere.

"Alright, alright," said Blaise to placate Draco. "If you want me to be honest with you, I always rather thought that you would follow in your father's footsteps." Draco thought there was more, but Blaise apparently felt that was a suitable explanation.

Draco blinked. "But I did."

"Yes, the key word being 'did'. But you aren't anymore, are you?"

"And this is why you don't hate me?"

"Draco, I couldn't care less what you think, but at least it's from you."

There was a pause when Draco wasn't sure what to say or think.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think we all expected you to just take up your father's mantle and that would be it. I thought you were just a puppet for your father. But you've actually decided to think for yourself for a change — forge your own path. I guess I respect that."

"So you don't agree with the blood purity idea? I thought —"

"That's not what I said. When have I ever just gone along with something? That's what I detested about you. You were a mindless sheep leading your own flock of lambs."

It was true, Draco recalled. Out of the entire group of Slytherins that he had always hung around with, Blaise was always the most disenchanted with him. Draco always thought himself as the leader of the gang, but he never really thought of himself as leading Blaise. He was always more independent than the rest of the group. The two of them had certainly bumped heads more than anyone else.

"I see… but do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Believe in Pureblood supremacy?"

Blaise shook of the question. "I think that most everyone — Pureblood or not — are morons."

Draco laughed. Leave it to Blaise to have such a cynical view of the world.

But Zabini wasn't finished. "You used to be a prime example of that."

Draco stopped laughing and Blaise stopped smirking as a pillow flew at his face.

"Hey watch it, Malfoy. Remember, I'm one of the only ones here not against you."

"So does that mean we're okay?"

"Mind you, I'm not quite sure how willing I am to stick my neck out for you; but yes, we're still friends, Draco. Perhaps more so now than before."

"Well, thanks."

"Please, don't insult me. I am no simple-minded fool. I do things my own way. I am far too superior to be a mere follower."

Draco rolled his eyes. Blaise was still the same arrogant Slytherin he always knew. It was good to know that some things could still be the same.

Draco looked around room to see if anyone else was there, with someone particular in mind.

"Looking for someone?" asked Blaise.

"Yes." Draco told him who it was.

"What do you want to find him for?"

"I have my own reasons, alright," said Draco.

Blaise was at a loss. "How should I know where he is? Does anyone ever know where he is?"

"I just thought I'd ask."

"Well, good luck with that," said Zabini, shaking his head and standing up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower."

Now, it was Draco's turn to shake his head. Knowing Zabini, he'd be up there for a while. Draco swore the guy took longer than a girl to get ready. Kidding aside, it wasn't as if Blaise had to fix his hair or anything, so Draco figured Zabini spent most of his time looking at himself in the mirror. Honestly, Blaise was one of the vainest people he knew.

Looking up, he saw that Pansy had been watching the entire thing from a back corner. But now, she padded slowly over in his direction.

"Is it true?" she asked quietly once she stood right above him.

He hesitated. "Is what true?"

"You know exactly what, Malfoy!" she shouted, becoming angry.

He winced, she hadn't called him by that name in a long time; she must be really livid.

"It is true? You're with that Mudblood!"

"Hey!" he shouted right back. "Don't you call her that!"

She laughed spitefully. "So, it is true. Tell me, what is it like to taste filth?"

"Shut up, Pansy! Get out!" he yelled, standing up and pointing at the door.

"Well, it certainly didn't take you long to go running to _her_. I've stood by your side all these years! Does what we had mean nothing to you? How could you choose _her_ over me? How could you!"

"'What we had?'" he asked in disdain. "We had _nothing_, Pansy. And I will _never_ be with you. Ever! You're nothing but a spiteful, stupid girl; and no guy in his right mind would ever want you."

Pansy looked like she had been stricken across the face. Tears began to form in her eyes and Draco felt immediately guilty. He hadn't meant to come across so harshly — to be so nasty. He was just sick of everything right now.

"I hate you!" she screamed, smacking him in the chest so hard that he stumbled back a step. "Everyone's right," she continued. "I was just wasting my time waiting around for you. You don't even see me, do you? Is the thought of me so horrible that you go crawling to Granger? I've waited for you all these years — hoping — but all you ever do is hurt me."

Draco was stunned. He knew that Pansy's loyalty had always bordered on worship, but he never truly thought either them assumed their 'relationship' was anything serious. It was just convenient, and they were both lonely [3]. But he had no idea how deeply she felt for him. Had he been that oblivious? Now, he could feel nothing but pity for the girl that always followed him around like a lost puppy. She truly had no ability to be independent.

"Pansy…"

"Save it, Draco."

"Pansy, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know! How could you? Nobody ever notices _me_!" she sniffled.

Her need for attention, he knew, largely stemmed from the lack of affection from her parents at home. But he also knew, in some way, part of this was his fault. He strung her along, assuming she understood that he harbored no real romantic feelings for her.

"It's not you, Pansy. I just —"

"You have been really awful to me, Draco Malfoy," she accused.

"I know," he admitted. "And I was wrong to say what I just said. I've been nasty to you, I've been mean to Goyle… I've been mean to everyone lately."

"Everyone except, Granger," she muttered.

Draco chose to ignore this. "You don't understand. I've been under a lot of pressure. You know I was a Death Eater… He threatened to kill me, Pansy, _kill_ me… and my family."

"But —"

"But nothing, Pansy! It's all lies. Everything… The whole blood purity thing, the Death Eaters… I don't want it anymore. I'm done with it." He grasped his left forearm unconsciously, though it didn't escape Pansy's notice. "I'm through with this." Draco looked up at her in earnest. "It's bullshit, Pansy" [4].

She shook her head. "What's happened to you, Draco? Who are you?"

"I've had my eyes opened to the truth, that's all," he answered.

"They've poisoned your mind, Draco. You're just confused, is all."

Her patronizing tone of voice only angered him further.

"I'm not confused, Pansy. And you don't know _anything_ about me." His voice contained a hard edge to it that once again caused her to look hurt. Then her face hardened and she began to walk away but he stopped her. "Wait a minute. Wait, Pansy."

"Let go of me!" she screamed. "You may not think I'm worth your time, but in all the time I've spent with you, I haven't just been ignoring you!"

"Listen to me. You don't know what I've been through. You have no idea! You have no idea what it's like to stand before him."

That got her attention. He hastened to keep talking so she might understand. She was lost just like he was. And he had an instinctive need to show her how things really were, to help her see as Hermione helped him to see.

"I don't care!" She continued to resist. "You don't care about me anyway."

"That's not true." And he realized it wasn't as he said it. He always figured he was just used to having her around, but the fact was that he didn't want anything bad happening to her. He felt oddly protective of her. Perhaps it was because he knew that he, in part, was responsible for her current path.

"If you cared about me then you wouldn't have hurt me."

"I can't help how I feel about her!"

"It's not fair!"

"Fair?" asked Draco incredulously. "Do me a favor, Pansy, and never talk to me about what's fair! Do you want to know what's not fair? It's not fair that I was forced to follow in my father's footsteps and become a Death Eater! And you want to know what else isn't 'fair'? It's not fair for people to lose their lives just because they don't have this blood or that blood. It's not fair that some people have to die just because other people think it's okay."

Draco lowered his voice. "You want to know about fair? Huh? Well, I'll tell you. Do you want to know what it's really like? Do you?" Draco became so frantic that Pansy almost looked afraid of him. "Do you want to know what I saw?"

"What did you see?" she whispered automatically. She couldn't help it. No matter how many times she told herself to forget about him, she was always drawn back in.

"I saw… there was this girl — she couldn't have been much younger than your sister."

Pansy was puzzled. She thought of her sister, Linnea; she had just turned seven [5]. But what did this have to with anything?

"All of the Death Eaters were at a meeting, in the forest. A girl walked in on us. She was just a little girl… Do you want to know what they did to her?"

No, she didn't really want to know. But she couldn't get out the words; something stopped her.

"They tortured her, Pansy. They tortured her. And you know what? They _enjoyed_ it. It was like it was one big party, and that was the entertainment for the night. I'm sure for many of them, it was. They hung her in the air and stripped her naked, just to humiliate her, because they prey on fear. She screamed and she screamed… I couldn't believe how loud such a small girl could be… And then, she stopped screaming; her voice gave out. She was barely conscious by the time they stopped."

Pansy gasped; she could feel her breath grow shallow and shaky.

This was the first time he had talked about this in detail with anyone, even Hermione. But he _had_ to make her understand.

"And then you know what he did?" he continued. Pansy knew he wasn't expecting an answer, but she shook her head anyway, oddly entranced by his story. "He didn't just kill her… He hissed to his snake. It started slithering up to her… I replay the scene in my head over and over again. Time seemed to slow. The snake opened up its jaws wide, and for a moment, it just seemed to hang over her; it was like even the snake wanted her to realize what was happening. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn't. It was like I was frozen there. The girl, she looked so scared. She was barely conscious, but she looked so _scared_, Pansy… It was like she wanted to scream, but she didn't have the energy to do it. Her eyes were wide with fear, and they seemed to cry out for help. She looked as if all she wanted was for someone to make it all stop — for someone to come save her and hold her close and tell her everything was going to be alright…"

A single tear fell from his eye.

"But no one did… No one came to save her… I didn't do a _damned thing_, Pansy. And it haunts my dreams, even now. I tell myself that I was too shocked, that I just _couldn't_ do anything — that I wasn't physically able to do anything. And maybe I wasn't. But what if I was? What if I was just too afraid for my own life to do something? I ask myself that all of the time, but I still don't know the answer. And it kills me, Pansy… That _thing_ ingested her like a piece of rotten meat, and I just stood there and watched."

More tears spilled from his eyes; he looked disgusted with himself. Despite everything Hermione had told him, the guilt just tore at him.

"Maybe I've done the right thing and left the Death Eaters — left _him_. But I'm still afraid, Pansy. I'm afraid that all I am is a weak, two-faced coward."

By now, Pansy was crying, too. "Draco," she whispered. She reached out to embrace him. But she had no ulterior motives; she knew he needed it. Pansy could feel his chest convulsing erratically with jagged breath. "I'm so sorry…" she said softly. She realized that he had revealed a major part of himself with her, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. It touched her that he believed he could trust her with that much. But in the end, how could she not be moved by his story? His confession shocked her in the worst way possible. This experience had obviously transformed him, and she was glad he shared it with her, for now she could try and learn from it, too. For now, she truly realized what this way of life — his path as a Death Eater — really cost him.

. *** .

"What's going on, Harry?"

"Yeah, why did you call us here?"

The room was abuzz with the chatter of similar inquiries as Harry tried to field everyone's questions by addressing them all at once. The old DA was assembled before him in the Room of Requirement — Harry just having contacted them through their enchanted coins which he hadn't done since last year. Needless to say, many of them were very surprised.

"Listen," he said, projecting his voice so that everyone could hear. "I'm sure by now you've all heard about Malfoy."

Instead of quieting everyone, the chatter increased; Harry could pick up bits of conversation.

"Is it true? He's on our side now?"

"I don't believe it."

"I always knew he'd be a Death Eater."

"I heard he was almost killed."

"Everyone, please!" Harry shouted before the situation spiraled out of control. "Quiet down, I need to ask you all something very important."

Finally, the chit-chat subsided and Harry was allowed to speak freely. "I know it might be hard to believe, but the rumors are true."

"And," Harry said loudly to quell the noise that threatened to rise once again, "I've seen it first-hand. He's on our side now. There's no doubt about that. He's risked his life to help us and it almost cost him his own life."

"And why should we believe you?" questioned Zacharias Smith arrogantly.

"Because I say so," Harry responded in kind. "If you don't trust me, then don't believe me. But I know for a fact that Malfoy is on our side now."

"I trust you, Harry," voiced Cho. Zacharias turned and gave her a dirty look, but she either didn't see or didn't care.

"Does anyone else think that I'm lying, or have any reason to lie?"

Other people spoke up.

"No way."

"Of course not."

"I agree with Cho," said Luna. "We should trust Harry."

"If Harry says Malfoy's changed, then he's changed," said Ernie MacMillan.

Michael Corner piped in, too. "Yeah, he wouldn't make that up. He out of all people wouldn't do Malfoy any favors for no reason." Here, people tittered. The rivalry between the two was well-known to all of Hogwarts.

"So, what do you need us to do, Harry?" asked Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Now that everyone knows where Malfoy's true loyalties lie, as you can imagine, some of the Slytherins aren't exactly happy about this. They're going to be gunning for him now."

"Justice," exclaimed someone amongst the crowd, Harry wasn't sure who it was, but he was quick to dispel this line of thinking.

"No," said Harry. "Any mistakes he's made in the past, he's more than paid for."

"Like what?" asked a skeptical Zacharias Smith.

"Well, I would think being tortured by Voldemort personally is punishment enough, don't you think?" Harry asked ironically.

That shut Smith up. Some of the people gathered gasped in shock. Harry wanted to be sure that people understood just the type of transformation Malfoy had made and how far he had come from being the glorified bully he used to be.

"Anyways, as I was saying," Harry continued, "Some people in Slytherin — Death Eater sympathizers — are going to try and do their best to give Malfoy the treatment they think traitors deserve. There may not be very many people in his own house that he can trust. He'll probably be sleeping here at nights to avoid trouble, but even so, alone in a corridor for example, he could be ganged up on. What I want you all to do is watch his back. Make sure nothing bad happens to him. If someone's looking at him funny or people are following him, watch out for things like that. If he's walking somewhere alone, don't be afraid to help make sure he gets to where he's going in one piece. Just look out for him like you would for one of our own — or like you all looked out for me on the Hogwarts express last year. As of right now, treat him as you would any other member of the DA. That's all I'm asking you to do. Do you think you can do that?"

Everyone agreed, some, more reluctantly than others.

"Alright, thanks guys. I really appreciate it. It makes me feel a whole lot better knowing I've got all of you to help. That's all I wanted to talk to you about today."

Everyone filed out after the short meeting, knowing that they weren't going to get any further detail, but talking quietly amongst themselves of this surprising development.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione said quietly.

"Hey, I don't want anything bad to happen to him either. Some of those Slytherins are going to mean business."

Hermione said nothing, but wrapped her arm around Harry's shoulder and side-hugged him.

"Don't worry, Hermione," said Ron. "With all of us looking out for him, those Slytherins won't dare do a thing."

Hermione smiled at Ron and gave him a full bear hug. Ron returned the hug and a slightly nervous lopsided grin, but was clearly glad to back on good terms with her again.

For his part, Harry was just glad to have his two best friends back.

. *** .

Draco spent that night, as Snape suggested, in the Room of Requirement. The room was even more luxurious than his own bedroom at the manor, and was complete with a grand bathroom to rival the Prefects'. There was a fire blazing in the fireplace next to an intricate mid-19th century style Méridienne with richly embroidered forest green silk cushions, framed with lustrous African blackwood. His four-poster bed was also decorated with dark green and silver.

He smirked. Even though most of his own classmates were against him, he was still a Slytherin through and through. There was also a miniature library with books that he very well knew were not in the Hogwarts library; a collection that would make even Hermione envious. But he ignored all of this for now and stepped into the bathroom. Undressing, he looked around the dimly lit bathroom. There were a few torches on the wall and candles were glowing around the Angola black granite bath. But the bath was not formed in geometric, angular shapes, but was more like a natural pool, complete with a realistic looking waterfall — though he knew it was only the magic that made it possible. He walked up to the small dais that was raised above the bath, and back down the steps that descended into the stone pool. The water gradually deepened to waist height at the other end near the fountain-like shower head, but he sat in the shallow end, soaking away some of his worries and relaxing the tension from his shoulders. He thought that he could smell the faint scent of lavender in the water. It didn't have all of the options in the Prefects' bath, but he definitely preferred this one. Draco supposed the room was designed for him, after all.

But perhaps he relaxed too much, because the time he was finally finished with his bath, his skin was very pruned.

Tiredly, he slipped between satin sheets and fell into a deep slumber almost immediately after his head hit the pillow.

The next morning, he was walking to Potions class when he noticed something in the corner of his eye. He turned quickly, in case it was the group of Slytherins after him. He wasn't as worried about Avery, Pike and Crabbe because they had received warning from Snape. But Urquhart and his band of followers troubled him. But when he turned around, he saw it was only Neville Longbottom. So Draco continued to walk, but noticed that Longbottom was still trailing behind him. Longbottom didn't have Potions, and Draco had never come across him in all of his time going to Potions. So he decided to take a circuitous path down routes that most students never took, and not surprisingly, Longbottom followed. Draco became irritated. _Come to watch the show have you?_ he thought bitterly. Everyone had been staring at him like some sort of zoo animal. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He turned suddenly so as to catch Longbottom off-guard. As expected, the bumbling and awkward boy reacted as if caught in the act. Draco glowered at him.

"Longbottom, why are you following me?"

"I'm not following you."

Draco wasn't convinced by the weak lie.

"If you're only here to enjoy the view, why don't you just get that Creevey kid to take a picture for you? It'll last longer."

With that, he stormed off. But to his immense irritation, Longbottom was either incredibly dense or braver than Draco thought he was, because he still trailed him at a distance.

"What do you want?" Draco asked in frustration.

"I'm just walking, can't I walk?"

The cheek in Longbottom's response was enough to give pause to Draco. Then, recomposing himself, he said, "Well, walk somewhere else away from my vicinity, won't you?"

"You don't own these hallways, Malfoy."

Draco was stunned into silence. Who was this? Surely it was someone disguised as Longbottom with the aid of Polyjuice Potion?

Shaking his head, Draco turned to see Urquhart leaning against the stretch of wall just ahead tapping his foot with his arms crossed. Harper and Rosier were also there, looking at him venomously, as if he were the scum of the earth. But they were also murderously staring at a spot just behind him. Draco looked back only to be surprised by Longbottom once again. Longbottom was ardently returning the menacing stare back at the group of Slytherins. Longbottom, after helping to capture some of the Death Eaters over the summer, and during his display at Dumbledore's dueling session, had steadily gained a reputation as a formidable dueler. The group of Slytherins gave them both one last glare before leaving wordlessly.

_What the hell just happened?_ thought Draco. Had Longbottom actually been defending him? Longbottom left before Draco could question him. But strangely, as the day went on, he noticed other Gryffindors — as well as a few Ravenclaws and even Hufflepuffs — behaving much the same way. Draco had his suspicions; he was sure he knew who put them all up to this…

Going to lunch after class, he felt as if there were a spotlight illuminating him the whole walk down to the Slytherin table. There were teachers in sight, so he knew that no one would dare do anything to him here; but as well as the stares, he could also hear the whispers follow him wherever he went.

The whispers coalesced to become a maddening buzz, so that he had a hard time picking anything out specifically. What he did discern did not comfort him. Mostly he only heard snippets of conversation, but he could imagine how the rest of the conversation went.

"Did you hear about what happened?"

"There's no way…"

"I don't believe it."

"Dead man walking," he heard one person say.

He tried his best to ignore it all and eat alone in peace. But he ate as quickly as he could to avoid it as much as possible.

And so, life for Draco passed much in the same way for the next couple of weeks. He passed time in the Room of Requirement, and during the day, in the library. He didn't get to spend as much time with Hermione as he wanted, but at least he was still in one piece. This weekend would be better, he thought to himself. Dumbledore was hosting one last session this Friday, and then it would be a weekend of watching the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw Quidditch match and going to Hogsmeade. Hufflepuff had lost all of their games, and Draco's team had beat Ravenclaw, so they were still in the running for the Quidditch cup. They had a chance if Ravenclaw beat Gryffindor by less than 50 points.

It had also been during the time leading up to the weekend that Draco was finally able to track down the person he had been looking for.

"Nott!" he shouted, trying to catch up with the weedy boy. "Nott, wait!"

Turning around, Nott finally slowed down enough for Draco to catch up to him. He folded his arms. "What?" he asked, not unkindly, but with unmistakable air of someone who was rather disinterested.

"I noticed that you haven't been a part of the group that's trying to do me in."

Nott shrugged. "I just don't see the point. I've never really cared about what everyone else does."

Draco wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. "I know it was you who got Snape to intervene."

Nott said nothing, but didn't deny anything either.

"Why?" asked Draco.

"You were outnumbered. It was only fair. I don't believe in beating up my classmates, especially my housemates."

"Well, I guess I owe you a thanks."

Nott shook his head. "You don't owe me anything."

"I just thought, you know," Draco started awkwardly, "with your dad and everything —"

"I don't take sides. I figured it's best to just keep my head down and mind my own business. No one can hate you if they don't notice you."

Draco wished he had thought of that method much earlier.

"I worry about my own survival, nothing else. I'm protected from the Death Eaters because of my father, but the other side doesn't target kids, so as long as I don't pledge my allegiance to Voldemort, I'm sure they'll leave me alone. No one is going to care about me, and that's just the way I prefer it."

So Nott wasn't afraid to say Voldemort. And it was true, Nott was practically invisible and no one really paid him much attention positively or negatively. But so far, he had surprised Draco in a number of ways — it was difficult to know what to expect from Nott.

Nott fidgeted and said, "I have to go to class."

"Oh, right. Well, I guess I'll see you around."

Nott responded by merely giving Draco a curt nod before departing.

_That was weird_, thought Draco. Clearly, Nott wasn't going to defend him in public, but it was nice to know that at least one more of his classmates wasn't going to try and gut him in his sleep.

. *** .

It was Friday, and all of the sixth and seventh years were heading towards the Great Hall for their last dueling session with Dumbledore.

On his way, Draco was confronted by one of the last people imaginable.

"Hi, Draco."

"Er, hi."

"I'm Luna Lovegood."

"I know who you are." He was actually one of the few people who didn't make fun of her all of the time. She was just too bizarre… and seemingly insane. He had no problems seeing why people called her 'Looney'. But she had a way of weirding him out enough that he became so uncomfortable that he didn't even want to say anything to her, choosing to simply avoid her instead.

"Harry's told me that you're one of us now."

"Er…"

"I just wanted to let you know that I think that's great and I believe that you've really changed. I can tell. You don't seem to be so angry all of the time anymore, although, that might've just been the Buzzering Whangdoodles. They're really small, and they sit on the back of your neck when you aren't paying attention and sting you just enough so that you don't really notice that they're there, but it can make people terribly angry. They're also attracted to pleasant aromas, so you might not want to wear that nice smelling cologne, just in case" [6].

"Right…"

Since he had been outed by the Death Eater circle, he had spoken with a lot of people he normally wouldn't ever talk to. But this had to be the most peculiar and random conversation he had engaged in thus far. He was somewhat dismayed with his inability to articulate in an eloquent manner, but she just left him lost for words.

"Well, I won't keep you. Perhaps I'll see you around."

"Perhaps." He was still trying to wrap his mind around this entire conversation.

"Goodbye, Draco." She smiled, then turned and skipped off, humming a tune Draco didn't recognize.

Draco shook his head. If this wasn't the weirdest thing to happen to him today…

Stepping into the Great Hall, he saw that most everyone was already assembled inside. It was only moments later when Dumbledore addressed the gathering.

"Welcome. Welcome all. As you all know, this is our last dueling session, but I would encourage you all to continue practicing, with the proper supervision, of course. I am sure that some of your professors would be more than willing to assist you and perhaps even give you some pointers."

Their last session went out with a bang. Almost quite literally. First, they dueled with partners, and then expanded by coupling up with another pair and forming groups of four. Dumbledore wanted them to pair up with someone from a different house initially, which was just fine by Draco. He partnered with Ravenclaw Terry Boot and then they paired up with Justin-Finch Fletchley and Michael Corner. Draco saw that Hermione was grouped with Longbottom, Cho Chang and Ernie MacMillan. Potter was with Weasley, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones [7].

Draco was trying to avoid dueling any of the Slytherins, but as mixed up as the groups were, and seeing how most of the other houses were also trying to avoid the Slytherins, his plan wasn't very successful.

He ended up dueling a group that included Urquhart, Wilkinson, and two seventh year boys — one from Gryffindor and one from Ravenclaw, Draco thought. Draco was sure the non-Slytherins were not fond of him and would not hold back either. He supposed this was his payback for all those years he spent harassing other students.

Urquhart was wearing an insidious leer, and Wilkinson looked decidedly determined. Draco was getting the feeling that this group would not be abiding by Dumbledore's instructions to use non-hazardous spells only.

Dumbledore was counting down. "Three… two…"

Before he even hit one, the opposing group was already on the offensive. Draco's own group members seemed a bit taken aback at first, but responded quickly nevertheless.

Urquhart sent a purple streak of light their way, but they were able to dodge it. Draco was positive that these spells were not harmless. He ducked as Wilkinson sent a jet of green light his way. For a moment, he stood in shock. Surely that hadn't been the Killing Curse? No, it couldn't have been. He was becoming paranoid; she wouldn't risk expulsion, or Azkaban. There were plenty of other spells that produced green light. He had been standing still for too long. There was another spell headed his way, and he had barely enough time to safely duck out of the way. Then, Draco felt something riffle through the hair on his scalp. He saw a silver wave dissipate into the distance ahead of him, and he felt a shiver tingle down the base of his neck. Whatever that spell was, he was glad it hadn't hit him. Turning swiftly around, he saw that other Slytherins were joining the fray. Draco wasn't sure who had sent that last spell, but he thought it was Harper. He was being attacked from all sides now, and there was no way — no matter how good at dueling they were — that they would be able to keep all of the spells at bay for long.

"You two watch our backs!" Draco shouted to Boot and Corner. "We'll take care of those two," he said, indicating that he and Finch-Fletchey would take on Urquhart and Wilkinson while the other two watched for stray attackers. The two Ravenclaws nodded their understanding. Deflecting one of Urquhart's curses, Draco didn't have time to dodge Wilkinson's own curse. It barely missed him, but it hit Justin instead. The shock of deep pink hit him in the chest, and he fell, unconscious, to the floor.

A red beam flew at her and she was similarly incapacitated. Draco looked over his shoulder to see Potter and some of the other Gryffindors pointing their wands at the scene. Everything had happened so quickly. It had only been a matter of seconds. Draco started sending his own spells toward the group of Slytherins attacking him.

Then, there was a sound like a clap of thunder, the Great Hall was plummeted into darkness as all of the candles and torches were extinguished, and all of the magic came to a halt. And then, a soft glow emanated from the center of the Great Hall. It expanded until it illuminated the carrier of the light. It was Dumbledore.

"I said stop!" he said in a booming voice. "When I ask you to do something, I expect you to listen!"

Draco honestly hadn't heard Dumbledore over all of the commotion.

"In very much the same way, I expect you all to adhere to any rules I set forth. I am sure that you all have an understanding of these rules, as I have reiterated many times that the spells you use in these duels are not to cause harm to another. These lessons are for your benefit, and I am very disappointed that some of you feel the need to take advantage of this time to hurt your fellow classmates."

Dumbledore's eyes flashed angrily, and suddenly Draco understood why he was the only one that the Dark Lord ever feared.

"Now that you have broken my trust, I think it is fair that I cancel the remaining portion of our lesson."

There were groans among the crowd.

"I deeply apologize for those of you who did nothing wrong, but you cooperate as a group, and some of your group has chosen to deny you all the privilege of completing this last session. And now I must ask, why has this happened?"

There was no response beyond blank stares.

"No one?" questioned Dumbledore.

"Sir, I think people just got a bit too eager. And from there, everything escalated out of control," Urquhart suggested baldly.

"Is that so?" asked Dumbledore. Under Dumbledore's penetrating gaze, Urquhart, even as cool a customer as he normally was, eventually cowered.

"Does anyone else know what might have caused this disturbance?"

Again, there was silence. Draco half-expected crickets to chirp.

Draco saw MacMillan step forward. "Sir, I think I know what happened."

He decided to step in before the Hufflepuff got another word out.

"Yes, Professor," said Draco as Dumbledore turned around to face the speaker. "I believe he is correct," he said, nodding his head toward Urquhart, who was glaring at him menacingly. "People just became a little too overzealous and the situation got out of hand."

Suddenly, those blue eyes were staring into his own, and it was a moment before Dumbledore finally relented. "Very well. I must say, I am disappointed in your behavior. But as there is no one to trace this incident to, there will be no further penalty. However," said Dumbledore, with warning in his voice and in his eyes, "if I discover that any of you are plotting to purposefully harm another of your classmates, you will be severely punished." He let his eyes rake across the crowd, lingering a fraction of a second longer on the group of Slytherins that were threatening Draco.

Once again, Draco had lucked out, but he was sure that something had to give eventually. Sooner or later, he would have to confront the people desperately seeking to bring him to harm.

. *** .

The weekend was here and everyone was headed to Hogsmeade. It was their last trip of this kind for the school year, and classes would be over in a just a couple of weeks.

"Hey, Ron," asked Harry. The three of them were standing at the gate that led to Hogsmeade, waiting for Filch to give them the okay. "You coming with us?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you guys in a bit…"

Harry got the feeling that Ron wasn't telling them something. "Why, what are you going to be doing?"

"I, uh…"

"Just spit it out already, Ron!"

"I'm sort of — meeting someone."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Really? Who?"

Ron muttered something indistinct.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Hannah. Hannah Abbott," answered Ron, looking down at his feet which he was shuffling in slight embarrassment. "She was my dueling partner today, and we got to talking and everything…"

Harry stared at him. Hopefully this wasn't some ploy to make Hermione jealous. But Harry supposed if that were the case, Ron's ears wouldn't be turning frighteningly red. Harry smiled. It was good Ron was trying to move on. Proudly clapping Ron on the shoulder, Harry said, "Well, good. Have fun, Ron."

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Hannah still wants to see her friends later on, so I'll see you guys in about an hour or so. Where do you think you'll be?"

"That's around lunchtime, so probably at the Three Broomsticks," supplied Hermione, giving him an encouraging smile. Harry could now see Hannah approaching them.

"Hi, Ron. Harry, Hermione," Hannah said in a friendly voice when she reached them.

"Hello," they answered.

"Hurry up, you four. You can go through now," grunted Filch.

"Alright, I'll see you guys later," said Ron.

"Bye."

"See you."

Watching Ron and Hannah go their own way, Harry got the sense that just maybe things could go back normal between the three of them.

"So where are we meeting Malfoy?" asked Harry. "You're sure you want me here for that?"

Yes, Harry had spent time with them at Grimmauld Place, but this was different.

"Oh, Harry, it's not like we're going on a date or anything. Besides, I think Draco wants to keep that all low key — doesn't want to advertise our relationship. But I just told him, I'm friends with you, does he really think that people knowing about us being together makes things more dangerous for me?"

Harry knew Hermione was only making this comment in jest, but in his mind, he could see the gashes on Neville's face… He was cutting it close. How many more people would suffer on his account?

"Harry? Harry!"

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts. "Sorry. What?"

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, why?"

Hermione scrutinized him with concern. "Well, if you're sure… I was just telling you that I see Draco, over there."

Harry followed her finger to see that, yes, Draco Malfoy was standing over by the corner of the shops. Once he saw them, he started walking their way.

"Anyways," said Hermione, "I think it'll be good for you to spend some time with him as well. Ron, too, when he feels up to it."

Sure, Ron was doing much better now, but Harry wasn't sure he was at the point where he'd be comfortable around Malfoy just yet.

"The ginger siblings aren't going to grace us with their presence?" asked Malfoy as he approached.

Hermione glanced at Harry. "Ron's on a date, but he's meeting us later."

"Really? Weasley managed to land a date?" asked Malfoy in dramatized surprise. "It's not ol' what's-her-face, is it?"

"No," answered Harry. _Thank God_, he thought.

"Hmm… I didn't think it was possible," Draco wondered aloud. Harry just rolled his eyes. "What about Weaselette, where's she?" asked Draco.

"She's with Luna," Hermione said in an effort to help Harry out a little.

"Really? Because I could've sworn that you two were actually cursed to be attached by the hip, or more like the —"

"We're not together anymore," Harry explained curtly.

Draco's face fell. "Oh. Sorry."

After an awkward pause, Draco attempted to change the topic. "Yeah, Luna, she's weird, isn't she?" He couldn't stop a snort of amusement from escaping, thinking back on his strange conversation with the Ravenclaw girl.

Harry looked up at him sharply. "Don't even think about it, Malfoy."

"What, is 'weird' supposed to be code for 'sexy' for you Gryffindors?" [8].

When Harry just continued to stare at him, Draco said, "There's no need to pitch a hissy-fit, Potter, I'm not going to try anything. Besides, I'm with Granger, remember?"

This answer seemed to satisfy Harry for he dropped the subject of Luna. But… "Granger?" asked Harry, giving Draco a pointed look.

"Alright, Hermione," he said holding his hands up in defense and then glancing over at Hermione. "Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess."

The three of them walked throughout Hogsmeade and visited a few shops, and the group of them attracted many befuddled, or else belligerent stares. But Harry was surprised how well they were all getting on; conversation went smoothly and effortlessly, and Harry didn't feel any of the discomfort he had been anticipating. Then, Ron joined them, and although it made things a bit more wooden, it was clear that Ron was making an effort to make amends. He didn't want to lose Hermione as a friend.

Currently, Malfoy and Ron were deep in an argument (much to Hermione's dismay) concerning which Quidditch team had the best chance of winning the league championship when they saw someone running towards them.

"Harry! Harry!" the boy shouted across the distance.

As the boy approached, Harry recognized him as the clerk from the Owl Emperium this summer.

"I'm so glad I found someone," the boy panted. "I don't know if you rem —"

"Yeah, I remember seeing you. I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name," said Harry.

"It's Asher," the boy said breathlessly. "I don't know who else to go to. I doubt the Ministry would help me, or it'd take them forever to respond," he spoke quickly.

"Alright, alright, just slow down. What happened?" asked Harry.

"My uncle," said Asher. "I live with him. I woke up and heard yelling and arguing. One of the voices belonged to my uncle."

"Your uncle," said Harry, "is he the one that — "

"Yes, he owns the store… Anyway, I ran downstairs as fast as I could. There were Death Eaters, maybe four or five. He had no chance. They Disapparated with him before they even saw me."

Harry got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was sure he knew where this was going. He just hoped he was wrong. "Did you get a close look at any of these people? Did you know who any of them were?"

"I got close enough to hear some of them talking. They all seemed to answer to a leader — some lady. I'm not sure if I can remember her name now."

"Bellatrix." It was more of a statement than a question. Harry was sure; it had to be her.

Asher looked up in mild surprise. "Yeah… yeah, that was it. Do you know her?"

Harry gave a bitter laugh. "Much more than I'd like to. Is your house nearby?"

"Yes, it's just over that hill over there," said Asher, pointing at a small knoll about 200 meters away. The five of them ran over to the hill and the house was just beyond that. Above it, they saw the Dark Mark looming over the household — its eerie green glow casting a sickly color over everything.

"I didn't see that before, maybe it was because I wasn't looking this way," they could hear Asher shouting as they ran towards the house. "You don't think — does that mean — ?"

"They wouldn't have taken your uncle if they were just going to kill him," Harry told him. "He'll still be alive." For how long, Harry wasn't sure, but he thought it best not to voice that opinion aloud.

Stepping through the doorway, they all held their wands in front of them. It seemed quiet, but Harry wasn't going to make any assumptions. They could still be here. "Alright, let's split up. Hermione, you and Malfoy take Asher and check everything out down here. Ron and I will look upstairs. Let us know if you find anything."

They all nodded their understanding and went their separate ways. Maybe two minutes or so went by when Harry heard muffled screaming and sounds of a struggle coming from downstairs. He ran as fast as he could down the steps. Following the noise, he came to a secluded room near the back of the house. He entered what he discovered was a small library to find a masked Death Eater with a strong hold on Asher, who was bound and gagged.

"Ooh, lookie who we have, here?" leered the Death Eater. "This'll make the Master's day, it will."

Harry held out his wand. "What do you want?"

The Death Eater seemed to ponder the question, rubbing his chin theatrically in apparent thought. "Hmm… What do I want?" he asked in a taunting voice.

"Let him go, he's got nothing to do with this," said Harry.

"And just why would I do that?"

"What?" asked Harry, trying to egg him on. "Are you afraid of what'll happen if it's just you and me?"

"Ha, ha. That's not going to work with me, Potter."

"What's going on? What is it?"

Harry stomach plummeted as he heard Hermione's voice coming from the hallway. She entered the room before he could warn her. He needed to warn the others to stay away somehow. But he was finding it hard to think.

"Surrender your wands, now, or he dies," the masked man said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Harry and Hermione both glanced at each other, then wordlessly let their wands clatter to the ground. Harry racked his brains for some sort of plan, or anything that bore any type of resemblance to a plan, but nothing came to him. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he think of anything?

Harry felt oddly cold, and he could find no hope in the situation. They were all doomed.

"I'm not supposed to kill you," he said, pointing straight at Harry. "But he never said anything about making his job easier." The man uttered a spell under his breath, so Harry couldn't hear what he said, but it was clear what the spell did. Harry found that he couldn't move — not even a twitch of the muscle. Suddenly, there appeared two dementors from a hidden corner of the room, and now, Harry understood what he was feeling. Everything clicked into place. Dread and panic filled him as he realized that there were dementors in the room, and he could not move.

"Ah, so the traitor has come to join you. Even better."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw a flash of white light, but the Death Eater easily avoided the spell, hidden behind Asher. "Ha, ha," he cackled. "I think not, _traitor_." Harry couldn't turn to see who it was, but it had to be Malfoy. The Death Eater, whom Harry couldn't identify, gave another flick of his wand. The door behind Draco closed shut, forcing him inside, and they all heard the door click ominously. They were locked in.

"As for you, Potter, we will meet again, though maybe not every part of you," he said, snickering in a sinister way. "And the rest of you, well… have fun," he sneered.

Draco shot another spell at the masked assailant; the man was bigger than Asher, and this jinx almost hit him. But the Death Eater Disapparated before Draco could get another spell off.

The dementors were already approaching. Pounding could be heard on the other side of the door, but nothing happened. They were trapped.

"Expecto Patronum!" shouted Draco. Nothing. "Expecto Patronum! _Expecto Patronum!_" he cried, but the most he achieved was faint wisps of smoke. From outside, they could hear attempts to unlock the door, but to no avail. The dementor was at Harry's lips. There was no time.

"Repello!"

Harry was pushed back away from the dementor, where he bumped into Hermione. The two of them slid away to safety… for the moment. But neither of them could move or retrieve their wand. Draco needed to figure out the counterspell before the dementor could reach them again. But the dementors were not so happy, it seemed, to have something come in between them and their prey. They both turned to Draco, closing in on him. He shuffled backwards, trying to lure them away from Hermione and Harry and to buy time.

He pointed his wand to Hermione and Harry. "Finite! Libero!" But neither spell had any effect. Still, neither of them could move.

Something outside the door exploded.

Asher was yelling through his gag, his muffled screams indistinguishable. But his wide, fearful eyes conveyed a crystal clear message: Fear.

And still, the dementors crept ever closer.

"NO!" screamed Hermione.

But Draco couldn't hear over the sound of blood pulsating through his ears.

"Expecto Patronum!" Draco couldn't conjure the Patronus, he had never been able to. But now, he had truly happy thoughts. Draco tried to think of them, but his mind was already becoming sluggish under the influence of the dementors' presence. They were so close now…

Suddenly, there was a blast of energy. The door flew off of its hinges, and Ron entered the room.

"No!" he yelled. "Expecto Patronum!"

A silver Russell terrier charged at the dementors. The creatures howled and hissed, but were kept at bay. Ron had directed his Patronus to attack the dementors. It obeyed and the foul creatures fled.

Ron looked around the room and immediately realized what must have occurred. He quickly unbound Asher and then turned to his two best friends.

"Finite!" he said pointing his wand at them. But again, nothing happened. His brow furrowed in confusion. "Finite Incantantem!"

The curse was lifted and Hermione and Harry were free to move. But they were both slow to move.

"You guys alright? You and Hermione weren't hurt, were you?"

Harry shook his head dimly.

"I couldn't unlock the door, so I thought, why not just remove the entire door?" said Ron with a hint of a cocky smile. "I thought you might appreciate that one. So, tell me, how does it feel to be in the debt of a Weasley?"

There was no response. Ron turned around. Something wasn't right. "Malfoy?" he asked, sobering up.

But Draco was lying limply on the ground. He was pale, almost grey, with his eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling.

Asher looked like he was about to be sick, and Hermione might as well have been under the paralyzing spell for all she moved. For a second, Ron thought that maybe his counterspell hadn't worked. Then he looked over to Harry. His green eyes were dull and grave.

"But —" sputtered Ron, "The dementors hadn't kissed him, yet. I saw them!"

Harry shook his head again in grim defeat. "No," he said quietly. "They had just finished with him."

Looking down in shock at his longtime rival, Ron bowed his head in dawning realization. He was too late.

**************************************************************END CHAPTER**************************************************************

Chapter 22:

In the aftermath of the dementor attack, emotions are running high and it puts everyone one edge. But the group must remain steadfast and strong as the war rages on and begins to reach a crucial juncture. Now more than ever, Harry is determined to crack the secret of destroying the Horcruxes. But his fervor may put him in harm's way as he ventures onto ever riskier ground. Meanwhile, Snape discovers disturbing news out of Voldemort's camp.

"_And you!" Narcissa shouted suddenly, turning to Hermione and becoming angry again, "What do you have to say for yourself? Finally run out of things to say, have you?"_

_Hermione flinched as if she had been struck in the face. She looked like a deer in the headlights, and Harry knew she was reaching her breaking point. Again, Hermione said nothing. Her whole body was trembling._

* * *

Footnotes:

[1] Another movie quote! Can you identify the source? (I realize this has probably been in movies other than the one I'm thinking of. But this one should bring back childhood memories).

[2] Okay, so I hope I haven't thoroughly confused you with all of this. The idea is that Lucius will keep his memory except that when he is summoned by Voldemort, Snape will erase Lucius' memories so that he doesn't have any knowledge of Draco or Snape's true loyalties. But because Snape will return to Hogwarts after the break, he might not be able to get to Grimmauld Place in time to erase those memories, so when everyone goes back to Hogwarts, Lucius' memories will be erased the entire time except for during meetings when Snape meets with Lucius at the agreed upon time. The risk changes depending on if they can easily control Lucius' memories which means it depends on Snape's availability. Besides Narcissa and Draco, only Snape and Dumbledore know about this plan. And only Snape and Dumbledore have the ability to perform the memory charm without risking permanent eradication of Lucius' memory. Voldemort would immediately suspect something was up if Lucius spent any amount of time directly with Dumbledore, but that isn't the case with Snape. It's also too dangerous to leave Lucius at Hogwarts, so obviously that isn't an option. Anyways, I hope that makes it clear. If you have any questions or issues with this reasoning, please let me know. I hate it when people do things simply because it's convenient. But that's not what I'm trying to do, here. This is the course of action I think they would take.

[3] I'll leave it up to you to decide whether or not they 'went all the way' and/or if Draco is still 'innocent.' ;)

[4] Here's a little trivia for you: Do any of you know what movie this is from?

[5] Linnea. Pronounced 'Lin-nay-uh', not 'Lin-ee-ah'.

[6] I totally made this up because I couldn't think of any other creatures Luna mentioned in the books. With the help of Roald Dahl and Willy Wonka, of course.

[7] I know that in cannon, Susan Bones is in Hufflepuff, but I decided I like her better in Ravenclaw. I actually thought she was in Ravenclaw until I looked up to make sure and, lo and behold, I was wrong… So just make note of that small change. I'm not sure if it's really all that important, but I'll probably mention it a couple of times, so I'm going to go ahead and clarify this point now so as to avoid any confusion in the future.

[8] Some more trivia: This bit of dialogue here closely resembles that of a certain television series. Do you know which show it is and who said it? I guess I can give you guys a hint, as it's rather vague (Hint: it's a medical show. That should narrow it down somewhat).

A/N:

Please, don't hate me! I know it's almost akin to a bad cliffhanger and what I did to Draco was terrible. To my credit, I don't use cliffhangers often and no one said this story was going to be full of happy endings. But I urge you to keep reading anyways. In the end, I believe you will all understand why I did what I did. In the sequel, it will all make more sense to you, I hope.

P.S. I'm slightly disappointed no one even had a guess for my references in the previous chapter. Footnote 2 was reference to _Boy Meets World_, when Cory and Shawn get in a fight at school. Footnote 6 is a quote from _Juno_. I'm surprised no one got that one. Hopefully, you guys do better this time around. The last one (Footnote 8) is rather vague, and I'm not sure how many people will have seen the movie referenced in Footnote 4. But I fully expect you all to collectively come up with the first one. I will be sorely disappointed if no one gets that one.

Signing off,

fanster


	23. Sorry!

Sorry you guys. I'm still alive. I thought I'd be able to write fast enough to have an update by now, but I haven't had any time to write or do anything other than study, do homework, or work on lab reports. I'm a chemical engineer taking the hard stuff, junior classes (transport, kinetics, separations), and doing a chemistry major on top of that. I kid you not, quantum mechanics is my fun class this semester. It's been a life of nothing but school for me this semester. I'm so very sorry I haven't written anything for you all in such a long time, but I promise I haven't forgotten or given up on the story. It may be another month before I have anything up. I only ask for your patience and understanding on this matter.

Signing off,

fanster


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